To Be a Hero
by bballgirl32
Summary: Time Travel. A disillusioned Draco Malfoy sends his soul back in time to keep Voldemort from winning the war. What's a cunning, ambitious eleven-year-old to do in such a situation? Oddly enough, it might not be what a person would think.
1. Setting the Stage

**To Be a Hero**

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and am making no money off of any of this.

Summary: What it says on the tin. A desperate Draco Malfoy sends his soul back in time so he can keep Voldemort from taking over the world. It's like one of those entertaining Harry Potter redo fics, except with a petty, cunning, much more ambitious Draco in possession of the foreknowledge.

For all ye who dislike Draco (although I'm not sure why you'd be reading a Draco story if that were the case), I ask you to give this a shot. I'm trying to keep him in character, but he won't be an evil bastard-not because cannon Draco wasn't a (arguably evil) bastard, but because he's already gone through that phase. Also: No Ron The Death Eater, no Dumbledore bashing, no Snape with daisies coming out of his backside, no evil-Harry, and no Draco-is-a-sex-god.

Questions, comments, and responses are all welcome.

...

**Ch. 1: Setting the Stage**

It started as little more than a bit of speculation, just a stray thought that'd passed through his head during one of his long days in hiding. The notion was a desperate sort of ridiculous, although he considered it with perfect seriousness, lips pursing in thought as he lowered the book he'd been reading and chewed over the idea that'd come to him out of the blue.

Time travel.

"It's impossible," said Draco to himself. He leaned back in his chair, feet perched on the worn wood of the coffee table in front of him, the dim electric light of the Muggle cabin starkly illuminating the small, cluttered space. Papers covered nearly every surface, along with partially translated sets of runes, notebooks and scrolls and journals full of theories and spells. Nothing had come of any of it, but he hadn't expected anything would. From what he'd heard, the last of the Order had disbanded months ago. There were stragglers, but Voldemort was hunting them like rats.

Draco was, for all he knew, one of the last people who wasn't either vocally supportive of Voldemort or imprisoned. Even if he weren't too scared to actively fight back, doing so wasn't feasible. Not anymore.

"But this wouldn't be fighting back; it'd be… circumventing the issue," he went on, speaking aloud out of habit. He'd taken to talking to himself whenever he could, reading passages from books, vocally bouncing around ideas. Everything was too quiet in his hiding place. For the sake of his sanity, he needed there to be _some _sound. "Obviously time travel has been done before," he added. "Not on a large scale, but time-turners are proof that the concept isn't far-fetched."

He drummed his fingers on his thigh, absently picking at the fabric as he tried to force sensible thoughts from his brain. "I don't have a time-turner, and I don't have any way to get one. That makes things more complicated."

He did, however, have half a library worth of books at his disposal. Hermione Granger had been carrying most of them in her magically enlarged beaded bag when she'd been captured. Draco had volunteered to look through it while the other Death Eaters 'saw to her.' He hadn't been brave enough to defy Voldemort openly then, but his father had been bragging about the numerous ways in which he was personally going to defile the girl, and that was something Draco hadn't had the stomach to watch. He'd retreated to his room and sorted through the bag's contents, nearly kissing the spine of every book in her possession when he discovered them; Voldemort had banned everything that could be considered propaganda against him or the Dark Arts, so many of Granger's volumes were rare or nonexistent.

When asked, Draco told the Death Eaters she hadn't had anything of importance, and they hadn't pursued the matter.

Now he was grateful that he'd been too appreciative of the books to let them be destroyed. "There have to be references to time-travel," he said. "Arithimancy charts as well. And then the books I stole from the Muggle library when I was searching for non-magical weapons. I'd grabbed a bit of anything that looked helpful—I'm sure I remember nicking something on dimensional theory."

His fingers paused in their tapping. "Dimensional theory. I can work off that. Combine it with advanced magical theory, and see if I can't develop something. Break down spells. Find one that'll send me back in time." He sat up straighter, hope surging through him. "I can stop this. If I can go back—in any form, in any way—I'll be able to stop this. There's a solution. Of course there is. A nearly impossible one, but I'll force it to work."

He shook his head, chuckling to himself in amusement. "Merlin, I sound like a Gryffindor. Going back in time to stop Voldemort. Saving lives." His expression darkened. "Probably more pleasant than taking them. Maybe it'll even make up for taken them. If I go back, I won't have killed anyone."

He rolled his eyes.

"Yes, going back in time will wipe away my sins. What a positively idealistic thought." He huffed a sigh. "_Merlin, _I'm getting ahead of myself. Time travel in this capacity is impossible. Am I really going to bother looking into this?"

Yes. Yes he was. And since going back in time was his last hope, Draco wasn't going to give up until he figured out how to make it work.

…

It didn't take Draco as long as he thought it might to work out a solution. Only a matter of months, in fact.

Time travel, when looked at correctly, could be compared to using a portkey. He was going from one place to another, except he was moving temporally instead of spatially. Of course, time wasn't as concrete of a concept as space, which was where the problem came in.

Space _existed. _It was a thing. A person could walk from one place to another, could travel between places because they were literal and tangible and _there. _

Time was a concept. Not something that could be held or seen or visited. It wasn't real, not technically. A second was an abstract term for a certain passing of time, but seconds didn't _exist_ in the strictest sense of the term. They were also transitory, having the unfortunate characteristic of being lost once they had passed. Draco likened the concept to that of a man standing on the edge of a cliff with a pile of sand in his hands. Once the sand seeped through his fingers, it was gone; in the bottom of the chasm. Lost forever.

Add to that the thing about time not being real, which would mean that there was never any actual sand in the first place, and the notion of working with time, let alone traveling _through _it, grew to seem impossible more than far-fetched.

That was where his Muggle books came in handy. Muggles, because they knew nothing about time-travel in the first place (unlike wizards and their time turners) had not only looked into all sorts of ideas on how to make it come about, but also had numerous theories on how time and dimensions and reality functioned.

It was in a Muggle book where Draco found the theory that reality was like a line. Everything that the universe had been since its beginning could be likened to a string that extended to the present, and continually unraveled from that point. He'd come up with an even simpler metaphor, comparing the history of everything to a book that was continually being added onto. The past was already written. The future consisted of blank pages. Draco wanted to change the last few written pages of the story. He couldn't go back to a certain point and start from there, because simply returning to an earlier spot in the book didn't erase the words that'd already been put down. If he wanted to redo everything without writing over words that were already in existence, he'd have to tear out or erase the pages back until the point he wanted to start editing.

If he did that on a literal scale, he wouldn't be changing time. He'd be changing _reality. _It wasn't going back in time. It was tearing through the fabric of the universe, destroying what he didn't like, and finding a spot to start from again.

It was a mess of theories and facts, and a lot of conjecture, but Draco eventually gained enough certain to narrow his findings down to a few simple facts.

1. Portkey was the primary mode of long-distance travel for wizards

2. He could not portkey through time because time did not technically exist

3. Reality, obviously, did exist. It was not a concept. While a somewhat abstract thing, it _was_ still a thing.

4. If he'd find a way to reverse reality, being very careful to unravel it as he went, he should be able to traverse it without causing universal collapse

5. Portkey was used for traversing things. Reality could be traversed. Therefore, he could travel through reality using a portkey.

Oh, it wasn't that simple. In fact, it was terribly complicated. But Draco was smart and desperate, and he knew more dark magic than nearly anyone besides Voldemort himself. If there was one benefit of the Dark Arts, it was that they could take the impossible and make it possible. Not always by the most moral of methods, but considering that Draco was intending to shred roughly twelve years of reality, he didn't think moral methods would work anyway.

He wound up dissecting several destructive dark spells, including fiendfyre, as well as a handful of the charms that allowed time-turners to affect the fabric of existence, altered and blended components of those, then wrote out several versions of the final product, altering and tweaking for days before he was satisfied. With Voldemort's men no doubt keeping an eye out for his magical signature, Draco knew better than to try testing the spell; he'd have one chance to charm the portkey, so he'd have to make sure everything was worked out before he could begin.

When the main charm was as good as it would get, Draco worked out the more theoretical pieces of his plan. There were a handful of potential problems, the most concerning being that while an inanimate portkey would likely hold up to the journey he intended to put it through, the same couldn't be said about Draco himself; not with the powerful, reality-shredding spells he was using. He spent weeks thinking on the matter, but eventually concluded that nothing he did could protect his body well enough to survive being transported by _that much _dark magic.

His essence, or _soul_, was a different story_. _Since there was already a Draco Malfoy in the time period he was shooting for, as long as he charmed the necklace not to retain the soul after reaching its destination, it would combine with the other Draco's as soon as it was able. There was the minor issue of the other Draco already having an soul, but that hardly registered as a concern. While he hadn't the foggiest idea whether his past or present self would take precedence—his essence would be stronger, but the other Draco _belonged _there—he was positive that his memories would come through, and no matter how much of a coward he'd been in the past, he wasn't a bastard enough to let things happen the same way twice. He did feel slightly leery about the whole thing, but as nothing he did could make things any worse than they currently were, he didn't see a reason not to at least _try _to make them better.

The plan was hardly foolproof. It was stupid and dangerous, and highly illegal. But he had no choice.

Draco prepared the necklace, double-checked that his calculations were correct, and using the exact incantation that would've been needed to create a Horcrux—minus the murder that would split his soul—Draco waved his wand, casting a spell the tore his entire soul from his body and directed it immediately into the necklace.

Draco Malfoy's inert body collapsed to the floor of the cabin just as the necklace—a diamond pendant that had once belonged to his mother—disappeared in a torrent of black flames.

...

And then Draco Malfoy woke up screaming.

He thought he'd had terrible nightmares at first and stayed huddled in bed, telling himself over and over that it wasn't real, that it wouldn't happen, that everything would be okay. Then the rest of it sank in, about the time-traveling portkey and the soul, and he realized that no, it wasn't a nightmare. It was something that'd happened in the future to a different Draco Malfoy. A Draco Malfoy who he could feel inside him, who was a _part of him. _

Draco ran to the bathroom and threw up. He couldn't help but get physically sick at some of the memories that were suddenly lodged inside his head.

He registered, just barely, that a part of him—the part of him that wasn't really _him_—was irritated about how things had turned out. It would have been easier if the older Draco had taken precedence, instead of his own soul staying where it was. He was also irritated that the dark, dreadful, reality-shredding spell hadn't worked as precisely as planned, having sent him into an eleven-year-old version of himself rather than a slightly older Draco who could have handled it better. Now _he _had to deal with the awful feeling of a twenty-eight-year-old soul burning away in his chest, making him feel infinitely older than he actually was. Or maybe he _did_ feel eleven, but twenty-eight also. Both at once. Or maybe neither one nor the other. It was a difficult sensation to describe, but he thought maybe it was something like what a potion would feel like if it were sentient. The younger Draco was the base, and the older Draco the additional ingredients. While the former was most prevalent in the final product, the ingredients did alter the base significantly.

The feeling was disconcerting.

"I want it to go away," said Draco, and he realized he'd retained the habit of speaking out loud, which could be disastrous now that there were people around to hear him. He sighed, then frowned. Malfoys weren't supposed to sigh.

Then again, he didn't think he cared much anymore what Malfoys were and weren't supposed to do. Lucius (he _couldn't _think of him as his father at the moment, not with the other Draco's knowledge spinning through his head) had tried killing him after he defied the Dark Lord, but Draco had lost his respect for the man a long time before that, from the moment he realized that his father treated his Death Eater activities like a sport. He took pleasure in the pain he caused, unable to comprehend why Draco didn't see his duty as anything more than a burden. His mother had been better, had genuinely loved him, but she'd been too weak to support him when it counted, and deep down, that felt like as big a betrayal as the killing curse Lucius fired at his back.

"This is ridiculous," he insisted. "They haven't done those things yet. I shouldn't hold it against them. I shouldn't care. I shouldn't _know this_-" He cut himself off as more mature logic took over. "But they have the capacity to betray me awfully, and obviously I'm going to be defying them—I can't do what I did before, I _refuse _to do what I did before—so they'll surely hurt me again either way, and- and-"

He shut his mouth before the words could come out in a sob.

What sort of idiot was he? Sending emotions and thoughts and memories like this back into a child's body? He couldn't _handle _it. His psyche wasn't equipped for this sort of thing, he was going to go _mad_-

_Occlude your mind, _his subconscious told him. Draco was confused at first, but after a moment, he remembered what to do. He took a deep, shaky breath and distanced himself from the shock of everything that'd happened, putting his feelings in one half of his brain and facts in another. When his panic started to lessen, he slowly let his emotions seep through little by little. Without the force of so many new thoughts and feelings hitting him at once, he was able to handle them more efficiently, pinpointing things that belonged to the newly mature parts of his consciousness and letting them have just enough precedence to help him deal with his situation.

When he was satisfied, Draco collapsed onto his bed and took several deep, gasping breaths.

Okay. His brain was under some semblance of control. Now, he needed a plan. A course of action. Something to keep Voldemort from returning and to keep himself from doing so many horrific things. Seeing as so much happened even before Voldemort came back, Draco had _a lot _to sort through—little things he needed to make sure played out like it did the first time, stuff that _couldn't _happen the same way, and details that he could take care of later. Mostly, however, he needed a broad, general goal. He could go to Dumbledore and tell him everything, but besides probably dooming himself to Azkaban for the dark magic used in the portkey, he didn't have enough trust in the older wizard to share something of such magnitude. The only other people Draco could think of to confide in were either too young to handle it (although that hadn't stopped his older self from putting it on _his _shoulders), unlikely to believe him, or unable to help.

That meant handling things on his own, at least for the time being. And he could do that. Certainly he could. He had a lot of foreknowledge, and future Draco had been very smart and powerful. There'd be a risk, of course, but surely he could keep Voldemort from coming back, or could at least help the Order destroy him if he did.

"Right," said Draco to himself. "And I'll be able to stand against Voldemort from _Malfoy Manor_."

The fact was that, no. He really couldn't. Not when his father would be watching him so closely, doing everything he could to morph Draco into the exact person he now knew he didn't want to be. There had to be somewhere else he could go, away from his father's prying eyes and the expectations of being a Malfoy, where he wouldn't have to worry about letting his true intentions show.

Draco frowned, thinking it over for a moment, scanning his brain for anything that'd help-

His eyes lit up as something came to him—someone who could take him in, and who also might be willing to help him do what was necessary, even without Draco having to tell him the whole story.

"Really?" said Draco to himself. "I'm not going to go off and live with _him_."

He sneered.

"Right, because staying at the manor with my 'loving parents' is preferable. It's the best place I can think of, and it's safe. Plus, he's… competent, and for how hard Aunt Bella claims Potter took his death, apparently a decent enough guardian… And I've got a way to get him in my debt, to make sure he'll give me a hand."

It was a good idea, but a scary one. He was thinking of leaving his parents, and he actually _wanted _to. He couldn't comprehend it.

Draco raked a hand through his hair. His head was starting to hurt, and he wasn't sure whether it was from being so torn in half about everything—because that's literally what it felt like—or if it was simply from the stress of it all. Either way, he knew he couldn't afford to have a breakdown. He _had _to work through this.

Sighing (his older self had apparently had a habit of _that _too), Draco headed for his closet and dug up the journal he'd received from his parents on his last birthday. It'd been one of his less exciting gifts so he hadn't touched it, but it'd be helpful for sorting out his thoughts now, and for writing down all of his plans for the future.

He spent the rest of the afternoon writing, scribbling ideas and memories and outlining what he planned to do with himself.

It didn't help, not really, but at least it gave him a place to start. He thought maybe, sometime in the next few years, he might even figure out how to make everything turn out okay.

…

Draco had taken to carrying the journal with him everywhere he went. He'd already 'borrowed' his father's wand and placed a handful of charms on it so his parents wouldn't be able to see what was inside; to them, it looked like what a normal eleven-year-old would write. In reality, he spent much of his time scribbling plans and making up a timeline of what he remembered happening the first time around. For the things that he hadn't directly been a part of or heard much about, he wrote reminders to do extra research and pay close attention to what was going on around him. He also copied a lot of information he'd picked up from a journal Hermione Granger had left in her beaded bag. It was filled with information about Voldemort and his Horcruxes, and while the data was incomplete, it was enough that he could get a good general sketch of where the artifacts were and how to destroy them.

When he got tired of thinking about the problems that future Draco's soul had brought him, Draco spent a lot of his time in the Malfoy family library, reading whatever books caught his interest and taking notes on what he found; he already knew everything that the other Draco knew, so he gravitated towards the more obscure texts that his other self had never gotten around to.

His parents approved heartily of both the journal and his research. They thought his sudden interest in academics was a sign that he was a budding prodigy, and his father practically preened when he caught Draco reading about the Dark Arts. It almost made him sick, how Lucius had pulled him aside and said that Draco couldn't tell anyone what he was learning, but that he was proud of him for taking an interest in 'higher areas of study' nonetheless. Narcissa wasn't as openly supportive, but she was clearly impressed by his dedication.

For his part, Draco cringed away from their approval; he didn't want them proud of him for learning the Dark Arts, especially not when he was more interested in countering them than using them—at least in this life he was, no matter what sort of terrible things the other Draco had done. It tore at him, the satisfaction of _finally_ making them proud at the cost of knowing what, exactly, they were proud of.

He really wanted to get out of the Manor, to escape his contradictory feelings more than anything; trying to balance his eleven-year-old self's love for them with his older self's knowledge and ingrained feelings of hatred and betrayal was almost physically painful_. _ But he knew better than to attempt to leave yet, so he did his best to lose himself in his journal. When he became too tired of being cooped up inside, he snuck out and flew his broom, testing moves he'd picked up through his four and a half years on the Slytherin Quidditch team. He was better now than he'd been his sixth year; even though his body wasn't quite as used to the complicated flying, he was much lighter, and the combination of a small build and an adult's knowledge made flying a delight. He knew he'd grow bigger over time, but if he kept practicing, his form would be good enough by then that he'd likely still be able to get a lot better.

Really, being so advanced at everything was nice. He thought it might make Hogwarts boring, and he knew he'd have to be careful not to make his professors too overly suspicious, but if anyone asked (not that they would, since no one else knew about his circumstances), he'd certainly say that having innate talent at so many things was the only good part of the whole situation. He didn't think it was _quite _worth the nightmares or guilt or the heavy weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders, but sometimes it was awfully close.

All in all, nerve-wracking as he found living with people he now both loved and hated, Draco had to admit that the summer could have gone much worse. It passed by much more quickly than he would have liked either way, something that hit him hard when his Hogwarts letter showed up. His father barely blinked, never having doubted it would come in the first place, but his mother gave his shoulder a brief squeeze and told him good job. Draco could only stare at the reminder that soon, his time for preparation would be over, and he'd have to actively start trying to prevent that other awful future from ever happening.

This was his chance to do things better than his other self had, and he knew exactly how he planned to start: If there was one thing Draco desperately needed to go differently, it was his first meeting with Harry Potter.

…

Draco was careful not to let his trip to Diagon Alley vary from what his first self remembered of it, down to making the same suggestion that he get robes by himself while his mother looked at wands and his father picked up books. While Draco desperately wanted to go to Flourish and Blotts, he resigned himself to waiting to access the Hogwarts library. He had plans for his meeting with Harry Potter, and he didn't want bad timing to ruin them. After all, if Draco was going to be trying to stop Voldemort, he might as well have an actual hero with him to do all the risky grunt work.

For all his careful maneuvering, Draco was still relieved when Harry Potter entered the shop a few minutes after Madam Malkin had started in on him. Or at least his other self's memories told him it was Harry Potter; Draco wouldn't have ever recognized him as he was. Far from the strong and confident hope of the Light who fought in the other Draco's war, this boy was small and thin, looking closer to eight or nine than eleven. His clothes were also too big, and obviously second hand. _He isn't what I expected, _thought Draco, which was absurd since he'd already known what to expect.

"Hello," said Draco when Harry led to the stool next to his. "Hogwarts too?"

Harry nodded, looking strangely shy. "Yes."

"I'm Draco Malfoy." He maneuvered around Madam Malkin so that he could extend a hand to the other boy. Draco remembered that Harry had rejected his other self's hand the last time around and tried to hide his nervousness; he'd kept his voice polite and hadn't gone off on any tangents, so surely Harry wouldn't have any reason to snub him already… Would he?

Harry clasped Draco's hand in his own, and Draco sagged in relief.

"Harry Potter," said Harry.

He pushed back the giddy excitement at his small success and casually raised his brows, ignoring Madam Malkin's gasp at Harry's name. "Are you? I suppose a lot of people around here find that interesting, but I honestly don't see what the fuss is about. I mean, you defeated the Dark Lord as a baby, so I'd assume you don't even _remember _it."

Harry looked pleased. "Not really, no; I just recall a lot of green light. It seems like everyone else thinks I'm some sort of hero, though. It's really embarrassing."

How had the other Draco thought this boy was arrogant?

"Oh, you'll get used to it," Draco told Harry. "I'm sure people won't be so pushy forever; it's just that you haven't been seen for… well, ten years, it'd be. So they're all very surprised that you're here." He frowned. "Where've you been, anyway?"

Harry wrinkled his nose. "I was living with Muggles. I didn't even know magic _existed _until just a few days ago."

Draco winced. "That's awful. My dad says Muggles are savages. I wouldn't go _that _far, but-" He looked Harry over, taking in his over-sized clothes and stick-thin arms for a second time. His other self had never cared enough to notice, but now that he _really _looked, it was obvious that the boy was neglected. He'd always sort of assumed that Harry would've been all but worshipped growing up. That clearly wasn't the case. "The ones who raised you _were _savages, weren't they?" asked Draco slowly. "That's why your clothes don't fit."

Harry blushed. "They're my cousin's."

"He must be a _hog_," said Draco. "If that's the sort of casual clothing you've got, you ought to buy some new stuff. Wizards don't wear robes all the time, after all; we have some stuff that's a bit more… _Muggle_, I suppose you could call it. Just don't let my father hear you say that. He'd have kittens."

"Does your father not like Muggles?" asked Harry.

"My whole family doesn't like Muggles. Well, except for me—I find them tolerable enough," said Draco. It was the truth, although he wasn't sure whether the other Draco's tolerance had rubbed off, or if the years' worth of memories that'd lead to that tolerance had caused his drastic change in sentiment; he thought, probably, that it was a little of both. "It's hard sometimes, understand. I _was _raised to hate them. But I've heard that some Muggleborns are very smart, and I know some purebloods who're very stupid, so I thought I best not put too much stock in what my family thinks."

Harry smiled at him. "That's very fair."

"I try to be. I wasn't when I was younger, and bad things came of it." He shivered as he thought of the things the other Draco had gone through—the things the other Draco had _done_. Playing nice with the Mudbloods was definitely a better alternative than living like that again.

Madam Malkin patted him on the arm and said, "You're done, dear."

She was smiling at him oddly, and Draco realized she'd been listening in on their conversation. Draco flushed at the approval in her eyes, recalling how she'd always been a bit wary of the other Draco. He tried to ignore the way her changed attitude made pleasure bubble in his chest.

"Thank you," he told her, trying not to smile too big. He hopped off the stool and turned to Harry one last time. "I ought to go meet my parents, but I'll see you at the Hogwarts Express. Maybe we could share a compartment."

He ducked his head, more anxious than he'd admit over the other boy's response. It wasn't until Draco caught a glimpse of Harry's sparkling eyes and enormous grin that he realized he'd done well. He hadn't screwed up, not yet. Not like he'd done the last go around.

"Yeah, Draco," he said. "I think I'd like that."

Draco mirrored Harry's grin. Even though it wasn't the sort of thing a 'proper' Malfoy would admit, he imagined that he was every bit as eager to see Harry again as it looked like Harry was eager to see him.

...

**Author's Note: **

**Yes, I'm back from behind the Veil (or whatever cheesy reference you want to use). I explained things on my profile so I'll be brief here: **

**I'm writing again, or at least trying to get back into it. This is a story I've wanted to do for a while and just got around to drafting up. Any feedback is much appreciated. **


	2. Better Be--

Draco's parents left him at Platform 9 ¾ without much fuss. His mother kissed him on the cheek, and his father squeezed his shoulder and told him to behave like a Malfoy. Draco wasn't very interested in behaving like a Malfoy, not like his father thought he ought to, but he smiled and promised that he would, then walked off to the train, dragging his trunk behind him. When he had his things stored in a compartment, he went back out to the platform and waited for Harry.

The Boy-Who-Lived came through the barrier before long, and Draco waved him over, doing his best not to wrinkle his nose when he saw that his friend was talking with the Weasley twins. The reaction was really more reflex than anything; the other Draco had felt a fair amount of respect for Fred and George. Even in school, he'd secretly thought they were brilliant. He hadn't minded the female Weasley either, nor had he been particularly disgusted by any of the older brothers. Even that prat Percy had been competent. In all honesty, Ron was the only one his other self _really_ had a problem with, and that likely had more to do with years of built up hatred than any true shortcomings on the Weasel's part. None of them were really all that awful, not how his father had implied they were.

That meant he ought not to judge them based on prejudices he now knew to be false.

"Harry," said Draco, nodding politely. He looked at the twins. "You must be Fred and George. Professor Snape is my godfather, and all of last year he wrote me about how much he appreciates your sense of humor." Draco leaned forward conspiratorially. "I wasn't supposed to say anything since it's his job to like Slytherins best, but he _really _only takes so many points because he doesn't want anyone to know that you're actually his favorites."

They gawped at him.

"I'm Draco, by the way," he went on. "Draco Malfoy. Our parents hate each other, and there's a chance that my father is watching from somewhere on the platform and having a fit, but quite frankly, I don't respect him enough to care."

"_You're _Draco Malfoy?" blurted one.

"But Malfoys are supposed to be evil."

"You don't _look _evil."

"Although you did say that Professor Snape likes us-"

"-and we were really tempted to take advantage of that-"

"But he doesn't like us at all-"

"Does he?"

Draco blinked. "_That _is irritating," he said. "But no, he does not like you. Then again, if it makes you feel better, he doesn't particularly like anybody. I heard that he loved Harry's mother when they were in school, but they got in a fight and she married Harry's father instead. You-Know-Who killed her before they could reconcile, and it left Snape bitter." The memories had been left in a pensieve in Dumbledore's office, and Voldemort made them public knowledge after the final battle, wanting to destroy the 'traitor's' reputation.

Fred, George and Harry all blinked in surprise.

"You're serious," said the twin on the left.

"It's common knowledge in some circles. Just don't let him know that _I _told you, or I'll get my father involved-" He frowned. "I really do sound like a prat when I say that, don't I? Well, I'll just curse you. I know some nasty ones." He looked at Harry. "Have one of them help you with your trunk—you're really too scrawny to do it yourself—and let's find a place to sit."

"You don't have to-" Harry started.

"Oh, it's our pleasure," said a twin. Draco tried and failed to figure out which one.

"I'd tell you to wear name badges, but I have the feeling you'd mix them up on purpose."

Fred and George laughed. "Our mum makes jumpers with our initials, and we swap 'em on her all the time."

"It's quite sad that she doesn't know her own offspring."

"But maybe you should keep that in mind."

"If our mum can't figure out which of us is which-"

"-you don't have a chance."

Draco pursed his lips. Now he'd have to figure them out, or risk being driven mad by the notion that a pair of Weasleys had outwitted him. "We'll see." He paused, then added, "And call me Draco. You're both tolerable, and I think we're all mature enough to put aside familial dislike and become friends at some point." _Besides, everyone called my bastard of a future self 'Malfoy,' and I want to set a different precedent. _

They looked surprised. "Aright, Draco."

"I mean, you seem a decent enough sort."

Draco led them to where he'd put his luggage. One of the twins shoved Harry's trunk next to Draco's, and then they waved jauntily before heading off, mentioning something about Lee Jordan and a tarantula. Draco watched them go, still attempting to tell which was which, before deciding that it was a lost cause for the time being. He shook his head and turned his focus to Harry.

The Boy-Who-Lived was frowning at him. "Was it true, what you said about my mother and that professor?"

"Yes," said Draco. "But I wouldn't worry. I think all that you and Snape need to do is talk it out. He's a bit grumpy, but he _does _have a good side, and he's a brilliant friend to have if you can manage to get on it."

"I don't know if I want him to like me. Not if you think he'd really be so awful just because of jealousy. That doesn't seem right."

"Oh, it's more than that," Draco assured him. "You see, everyone knows that he really, _really _didn't like your father or godfather, even before everything that happened with your mother. They were horrible to him in school, so it's understandable that he's got a lot of resentment built up." Draco saw Harry's devastated expression and quickly added, "They grew up, though—your father and godfather, I mean. Everything I've heard said that your dad was a hero during his last few years. He just needed a bit of time to get there."

Harry frowned. "What about my godfather? I didn't know I had one."

"I bet no one wanted to tell you," said Draco. "See, he's in wizarding prison because everyone thinks he offed a bunch of Muggles and betrayed your parents to You-Know-Who."

The boy looked even more horrified. "You mean, it's his fault they were killed?"

Draco grinned; it was time to start operation 'Find a New Place to Live.'

"Well, that's what people think. Me, I'm not certain he wasn't framed. It's said there was this other wizard who confronted your godfather, and they got in this huge duel. The other wizard was killed and so were twelve Muggles. But after everything was all cleared up, someone found one of that other wizard's fingers. And-"

Draco was cut off when the door opened, and Ron Weasley poked his head into the compartment. "Is there anyone sitting here? Everywhere else is full."

_This is too perfect, _thought Draco, catching a glimpse of the rat in Ron's pocket. He had a feeling this was going to be even easier than he'd originally thought.

"Nope. Go ahead and sit," said Harry. He remembered Draco and glanced at him. "If that's alright."

"I suppose so," Draco drawled. He nodded to Ron. "Weasley."

Ron's nose wrinkled. Draco tried not to notice that there was a spot of dirt on it. "How'd you know I'm a Weasley?"

"I have a witty speech I could give in response to that, but I'm learning to be polite, so I don't think I will," said Draco, remembering what he'd said the last time around. He smirked at the clueless expression on the boy's face. "I just met the twins actually, and you look quite like them."

He looked even more irritated. "Oh."

"Don't look so put out," said Draco. "I was stating a fact, _not_ suggesting that you are, or should be like either of them in any way."

Ron flushed, but he looked at Draco with something akin to actual _like_, and Draco felt absurdly pleased. While he didn't think befriending Ron Weasley would serve much purpose, there was something about the amicable expression on the weasel's face that was… nice, almost. Draco was pretty sure the only time Ron had looked at the other Draco with anything besides hate or disgust had been after he'd gotten turned into a ferret his fourth year, and that'd only been to laugh at him. This was different. _Better_.

Not that Draco would let Ron Weasley know he valued his good opinion.

"Thanks…" He frowned. "Er, what was your name?"

"I'm Draco Malfoy- _don't _make that face," snapped Draco when Ron looked disgusted. "Weren't you the one who was _just _angry at me for identifying you based on _your _family? Really, I-"

"Sorry," Ron cut in, sincerity apparent in his voice. "It's just habit; I really didn't mean to do that." He looked at Harry. "And who're you?"

"Harry Potter."

Ron's eyes widened. "You're-"

"He's a boy who survived a murder attempt when he was a baby. He can't remember anything about the incident and hasn't known he was a wizard until just a few weeks ago," Draco cut in. "He's also disgustingly modest. Oddly enough, he doesn't like people staring at a scar that reminds him of the night his parents were killed."

Ron looked horrified. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean- or, I wasn't-"

Good Merlin, Draco wondered if Ron bungled his way through every conversation he had, or if he was making a special exception for Harry and himself.

"It's okay," said Harry, smiling at both Ron and Draco. "I don't mind. Or, I do, but I'm not too offended."

"Thank Merlin," Ron breathed.

Harry's attention returned to Draco. "Can you go back to telling the story now? About why you think my godfather was innocent?"

Draco had to work not to laugh when the rat in Ron's lap suddenly perked up. Oh, this was going to be fun. "Right," said Draco. "Remember how I said they only found one of that other wizard's fingers?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, all the other dead Muggles were just dead. So why would that wizard—Peter Pettigrew, was his name—why would he be completely _disintegrated_? And then, the big thing, if he were disintegrated, why would his finger still be there? Seems a bit odd. I mean, I think the consensus was that Sirius Black left it as a memento, but that doesn't make sense; any halfway decent psychopath would've picked something more interesting than a _finger _if that were the case. Like a skull, or a severed limb."

The rat twitched.

"That does make sense," said Harry.

"You think Sirius Black is _innocent_?" asked Ron, catching onto the topic quickly.

"Uh-huh," drawled Draco. "I'd wager Peter Pettigrew was the spy, and that he killed all the Muggles and then cut off his own finger and left Black there to take the blame. I mean, it's not like anyone _knows _Black did it. He never got a trial."

"I thought I heard that Black kept yelling about killing someone," said Ron.

"You're a bit dim, aren't you?" asked Draco. "If one of your friends had just betrayed two of your other friends to You-Know-Who, don't you think you'd want to kill him too? Also, from what I've heard, James Potter and Sirius Black were _best _friends. Like brothers. Pettigrew was close to them, but my father says he was a weak, needy little bastard who attached himself to people who were more competent than he was. If he'd thought Voldemort-" Ron flinched, and Draco smirked. "-would win, he was just the sort who would've put his cards with the Dark Lord. A filthy little rat, I believe is the exact phrase my father used."

They all looked at each other speculatively. Pettigrew was practically shaking in Ron's lap.

"But that's all conjecture," said Draco flippantly. "I mean, we're _first years_. I'm sure trained Aurors would've considered all of this. They've probably looked into it."

"Aurors?"

"They're magical law enforcement," said Ron. "And Draco's right; they would've already thought of everything he just said, I imagine."

"I dunno," said Harry. "What if they haven't? I mean, my godfather could be in prison for something he didn't do."

"Hmm… you're right. I'll be sure to talk to Dumbledore about it. He'll be busy with the feast tonight, but I'll find him first thing tomorrow morning and tell him everything I just told you, and-" The compartment door opened again, but Draco didn't mind the interruption; judging by Pettigrew's twitchiness, he'd already done everything he needed to do.

"Have you seen a toad? I've lost mine."

Neville Longbottom stood in the doorway, nearly shaking he seemed so frightened. Draco's last memory of him involved the beheading of a snake and Neville standing up to Voldemort when Draco himself hadn't had the courage to do so. The contrast between that Neville and the one in front of him was every bit as prominent as the one between current and future Harry.

For a moment, Draco considered treating Neville with deference because of the person he'd eventually grow into, but quickly decided he'd wait to start admiring the other boy until he became someone worth being admired.

"Hello," Draco said with a smirk. "I'm Draco Malfoy, and this is Harry Potter and Ron Weasley."

Neville paled; any decent wizard had heard of the Malfoy family, Harry was Harry, and the Weasleys had already produced a Head Boy, a Quidditch captain, and a prefect over the course of the last decade, so all three of their last names were quite well known. Draco supposed he hadn't had to introduce all of them at once like that, but seeing the sudden star-struck look on Neville's face was amusing enough to make the awkward roll call worth it.

"Oh, er- I'm Neville Longbottom."

"And you're missing your toad," Draco repeated.

"Y-yes…"

"Well, alright then." He shrugged, pulled out his wand, and said, "_Accio Neville's toad_."

"You can already do magic?" asked Harry.

"It's not working," said Ron.

"Give it a moment," said Draco. A moment later, the toad flew into the compartment, and Draco snatched it out of the air as though catching a snitch. Neville looked at him with open adoration. Draco's lips twitched. He wondered why his other self hadn't figured out earlier that being a good guy was much more enjoyable than serving a megalomaniac. People _liked _good guys.

"That was brilliant," said Neville.

"Yes, well. I am rather impressive." They all gave him a look, and Draco rolled his eyes. "I was being facetious. I meant to say, thank you, Neville. I appreciate the compliment. Would you like to sit with us?"

Neville looked shocked. "My grandmother told me I ought to watch out for Malfoys."

"My father told me I shouldn't associate with Weasleys, but I've already acquainted myself with three of them. They really aren't philistines, no matter what he'd have me think." He glanced at Ron. "Although, and it's been bothering me since you sat down—there _is_ a spot of dirt on your nose. It'd make me feel better about associating with you if you took care of it."

Ron glared at him. "You may not be evil, but you are a prat."

"I try."

Ron muttered something about not needing to try, cheeks flushing when Draco's eyes flashed in his direction.

"Pardon, Weasley?"

"Nothing, Malfoy," said Ron. He went for an innocent smile and quickly changed the subject. "So… What house do you think you'll be in? I'm hoping for Gryffindor, since that's the best one."

"That's a rather prejudiced statement," said Draco.

"Oh, please. I bet you'd say the same about Slytherin."

Draco shook his head.

"Actually, I wouldn't. I don't even want to be a Slytherin. It's a fine house, but everyone expects I'll go there. I want something _different_." He'd thought about this _a lot_. Slytherin would be a bad influence on him, and he worried it'd take him down the same path he'd followed before. He also didn't want to be surrounded by people who would shun him as soon as his 'blood traitor' beliefs came to light. Gryffindor was hardly an option, not when he knew that deep down, he was nothing more than a pathetic coward (other Draco's memories had taught him that much). That left Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, and the choice between the two was fairly obvious. "Not Gryffindor, because I'm really not one of those loud hero types," he said aloud, taking care to sound as though he were just working all of this out, "and Hufflepuffs are annoying." He nodded to himself. "I think Ravenclaw would be best."

"That makes sense," said Neville. He frowned. "I'm scared, though. I think I might end up in Hufflepuff."

"Oh, I think you'll be in Gryffindor," said Draco. "You were nervous about asking for help with your toad, but you clearly planned to visit every compartment until you found him. You did something you weren't comfortable with to find a toad you're clearly embarrassed by, for no reason other than knowing you _should_. That's very Gryffindor."

Neville all but preened.

"You _are_ smart," Ron told Draco, sounding surprised. "I guess I see why you're thinking Ravenclaw."

Harry was looking at them blankly. "Hagrid mentioned the houses, but he made it sound like Gryffindor was the only good one."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Hagrid is biased. There are good things about every house. Ravenclaws are intelligent, Gryffindors are brave, Hufflepuffs are kind and hard-working, and Slytherins are ambitious and known for self-preservation."

"Slytherin is where the evil wizards come from," Ron added.

"_No_," said Draco. "It's where the most successful wizards come from. See, there are evil wizards from other houses, but Slytherins are usually in the highest percentile of whatever they do, which includes being evil. I'm certain there were evil Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, but no one's heard of them, because even though they were just as bad, they weren't as good at it."

Ron blinked. "That was a very Slytherin thing to say."

"Oh, I'm very Slytherin. I'll ask for Ravenclaw, but I don't know if it'll say yes."

"What does that mean?" asked Ron, wrinkling his nose. "_Asking? _Fred and George said we've got to fight a troll to see where we go."

Draco blinked. He wondered whether Ron was stupid or just very gullible. His other self's observations weren't impartial enough for him to tell. "Riiiight," he drawled slowly.

"We don't have to fight a troll?"

He shrugged. "Maybe I was going to ask the troll."

"You _know_," Neville said, eyes wide. "You already know how we're going to be Sorted."

"Maybe I do. Maybe I don't."

They all stared. Harry looked terrified. "_Do _we have to fight a troll?"

"Just the purebloods," Draco said reassuringly, knowing that Harry was probably twice as scared about the whole thing as the rest of them; he'd been raised by Muggles after all, and wouldn't have much idea of what he was getting into. "They have to see how inbreeding's affected our brains. You'll just have to put on a hat. Me, I've already researched how to kill trolls, so I'll be fine. It's these two I'm not so sure of…"

Ron and Neville looked to be on the brink of panic. "You're kidding, Draco. I mean, everyone knows the Weasleys don't inbreed."

_And that's what you choose to focus on? _

"Oh, I know all the old family trees. There are at least two intermarriages within the last three generations of yours," said Draco. Ron went red. "I'm safe, I know—the Malfoys and Blacks are from totally separate lines. But you… Well, we'll see."

"_Draco_!" Ron crowed, face even whiter than usual. He looked on the verge of a heart-attack, and Draco decided to be merciful.

"Right, now that you're all worked up about it, I want you to think for just a second: _who_, exactly, did you hear about the troll from?"

Ron's eyes widened with realization.

"Those two little… and you made me believe them!"

"Sorry," said Draco unapologetically, laughing at the expression on Ron's face. Harry joined in, followed by a relieved Neville. After a moment, even Ron quit sulking enough to give a weak chuckle or two.

Draco was _thrilled. _He couldn't believe that his other self had passed up conversation like this for watching Crabbe and Goyle stuff their faces. These people… well, he could really see these people (maybe even Weasley) eventually becoming his friends. Not allies or servants or minions like he'd had before, but real _friends. _

It was a very nice thought.

…

Draco didn't say much on the boat ride up to the castle. He was more nervous about the sorting than he thought he should be. He'd already determined that he'd ask about Ravenclaw, but he was worried that he wouldn't have time to do so. The other Draco's memories told him that the Hat had put him in Slytherin without hardly touching his head.

Surely this time would be different. Draco, for all he'd been raised to think of the house as superior, didn't _want _to be in Slytherin. There was too much that could go wrong if he were in that house, too many variables he didn't want to deal with. That Hat _had _to understand.

But what if it understood not to put him in Slytherin, but decided he wasn't smart enough for Ravenclaw? Draco didn't want to end up in _Hufflepuff._ It wouldn't be the end of the world, but… he just thought Ravenclaw would be best. Less embarrassing than the house of leftovers, certainly.

Even with his doubts, the others were clearly more worried than Draco. Despite knowing that they wouldn't have to fight a troll, Ron and Neville were fidgety, and Harry was still as a statue. Draco was actually a bit relieved when they finally reached the shore and McGonagall led them to the school; the tension in the boat was really getting uncomfortable.

When the ghosts descended upon the chamber where they'd been told to wait, he even found something to keep his mind from the sorting.

"D'you know Slytherin's ghost murdered Ravenclaw's ghost?" he asked, speaking a bit more loudly than usual so he could be heard above the gasps and whispers of frightened students. "She's called the Grey Lady, but her real name is Helena Ravenclaw. A long time ago, she stole her mother's diadem and ran. Her mother got sick and sent the Bloody Baron, who loved the Grey Lady, to fetch her so that they could meet one last time. She refused to listen, so the Bloody Baron got mad and killed her. When he got his head back, the Baron was so cut up about what he'd done that he offed himself too." Draco pointed. "See, that's him. He's still got blood on his shirt."

Neville and Ron looked like they were going to be sick, and even Harry went a bit green. "That's… awful," said Harry.

"But it was a good distraction," said Draco. McGonagall returned to lead them to the Great Hall, and he added reassuringly, "Don't worry about the Baron; the Grey Lady had it coming. He shouldn't go after you so long as you behave."

Ron whimpered, and Draco chuckled to himself as they lined up for the sorting. He waited impatiently while the Hat sang its song, humming along under his breath despite the glares some of the other students shot him. Soon, McGonagall began calling names, and Draco balled his hands into fists (to keep them from shaking) and watched as familiar faces were sorted into the same houses that the other Draco's memories told him to expect. Even Longbottom was put back in Gryffindor, though Draco hadn't doubted he would be.

Draco's name was announced soon after Neville's. He sauntered over to the stool, feigning confidence he didn't have. Smirking at McGonagall, Draco took a seat and tried to breathe evenly as the Hat was placed atop his head.

"Well, isn't this odd."

_I imagine it is, _thought Draco. _My head's an interesting place, isn't it?_

"Interesting," said the Hat. "But also perplexing."

_Well, that's a good sign. At least it means I'm not going straight into Slytherin. _

"Oh, no. You're too different from the person you might have been for that. Your placement will not be nearly so quick this time around. Your soul has aspects of both your current and future selves, and the final product is like nothing I've seen."

_Obviously. But, if you haven't noticed, I'm very smart now, so I'd like to be placed in Ravenclaw. It'd keep things simple for you, and-_

"Ravenclaw?" The Hat laughed. "It's hardly in your nature to purse knowledge for the sake of knowledge, young Malfoy. Ravenclaw isn't the house for you." Draco started to panic, but the Hat kept speaking before he could protest. "Hufflepuff doesn't suit either; you're not especially fair, nor hardworking. You would struggle there. And Slytherin… No. You've seen how being too ambitious and self-serving destroyed you in one reality. No matter how much cunning you retain, you're willing to do anything to keep from letting those particular qualities drive your actions again."

Draco's eyed boggled. _You're kidding. _

"You destroyed years of reality to go back in time and play the role of a hero. You were reckless and courageous, and are now prepared to take great risks to redeem yourself. Draco Malfoy, this time around, it better be GRYFINNDOR!"

The Great Hall went utterly silent. Draco numbly took off the Hat and handed it to a stunned McGonagall, trying to wrap his head around what'd just happened. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved that it wasn't Slytherin, horrified that he'd been put in the house he'd been raised to despise his entire life, or...

_Grateful?_ he considered, thinking that he'd be sharing a house with Harry Potter if nothing else. His parents would be furious, but he knew they'd soon have other things to be furious about anyway. Instinct made him want to protest, but in all actuality, there wasn't anything wrong with being a Gryffindor.

Really, he almost couldn't help but feel a little proud. Maybe he wasn't as big of a coward as he'd thought. Maybe he really could be different from the awful person he'd turned into before.

The tension drained from his shoulders at the thought, and when he slid off the stool, it was with a smile on his face. His confidence only grew when the sound of enthusiastic clapping reached him from across the Great Hall. He looked to the source, eyes widening when he saw that _Ron Weasley _had started the applause. Harry quickly joined in, and then Neville began clapping from his place at the Gryffindor table. The rest of the house followed suit, although slightly reluctantly, and the last bit of his doubt vanished when the Weasley twins let out ear-piercing whistles.

He'd have real friends in Gryffindor. Yes, some people were obviously suspicious (a handful even glare at him outright), but he knew that even those reactions would likely go away once he proved himself.

Ignoring the more unfriendly responses, Draco took a seat next to Neville. The other boy grinned. "I don't think anyone was expecting that."

"Especially not me," Draco said. He shook his head. "And to think, it didn't even _consider _the other houses."

"Then I guess you're braver than you knew," said Neville.

He nudged Neville with an elbow. "Says you. And you thought you'd be a _Hufflepuff_."

Neville's eyes practically sparkled at Draco's good-natured ribbing. Draco had to turn back to the sorting to hide the way his lips twitched into a half-smile at the happiness on the other boy's face.

After that, everything went as expected until Harry's name was called. The Great Hall went silent when McGonagall placed the Hat on his head, and Draco waited for him to be put in Gryffindor like he had in the other reality.

Instead, the Hat said nothing at all. Even the teachers started murmuring as it deliberated. And deliberated. And deliberated.

Then the Hat shifted, the tear at its brim opening as it called out, "SLYTHERIN!"

Draco nearly fainted_. _Of all the things he'd expected, _that _hadn't been it.

He gawped for a moment, mind whirring. He was the only variable that would've changed Harry's sorting from what it'd been in the other timeline, and seeing as he'd spoken up in favor of Ravenclaw more than Slytherin, it was more likely that the difference hadn't come from any positive comments he'd made, but rather his lack of negative ones. He couldn't be sure, but he had to wonder whether Harry hadn't disliked his other self so much that he'd asked not to be in Slytherin because of it. It was a possibility, although it didn't matter either way. Harry _was _a Slytherin, and while the change made Draco the slightest bit less sure of how things would turn out in this timeline, he was also impressed; he really hadn't thought the boy had it in him.

Draco noticed suddenly that no one else in the Great Hall seemed to think half so well of Harry's sorting. With a huff, he brought his hands together pointedly, slapping his palms so that the sound resonated through the large room. Neville and Ron quickly followed his example. Before long, the Slytherins caught on, and then the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. A few more Gryffindors joined in, although the house remained silent for the most part.

Draco met Harry's eyes and gave him a thumbs up. Harry grinned back, looking dazed but pleased.

The tension in the Great Hall soon faded, and McGonagall started calling names once more. Draco watched Harry cautiously, but it was apparent that there was nothing to worry about. The other boy gravitated towards Daphne Greengrass almost immediately, which was the best thing he could have done; Daphne had been carefully neutral when the other Draco knew her, and Harry could use a friend like her in his house.

Slightly more reassured about the Boy-Who-Lived, Draco leaned back to watch the last of the sorting. Before long, Ron was placed in Gryffindor and headed straight for Draco and Neville, cheeks going pink when the twins cheered boisterously. Finally, Blaise Zabini landed in Slytherin. Dumbledore concluded the sorting with his usual succinct speech, and then the Great Hall came alive with sound as everyone tucked in.

"I can't believe it," said Neville as they started to eat. "_Harry Potter _is in Slytherin, and a Malfoy got put in Gryffindor. That's just…"

"It's ridiculous," Draco agreed.

"He seemed so _nice_," said Ron.

Draco kicked him in the shins. "He _is _nice, you git. Not all Slytherins are bad, and it'll hurt him if you quit being his friend because of his house."

Ron had the grace to look abashed. "I guess… I mean, it's just… I can't think of any good Slytherins of the top of my head. They're all so _evil_."

Well, it wasn't as though Draco had expected him to have any tact.

"Honestly, Ron. I can name four off the top of my head. There's bloody _Merlin_, for one. On top of that, Regulus Black betrayed the Death Eaters and died trying to sabotage Voldemort. My aunt Andromeda was a Slytherin, and she married a Muggleborn even though she was disowned for it—she became a member of the Order of the Phoenix later on, actually. Then there's Severus Snape, who's Slytherin's Head of House-"

"_That _greasy git-"

"-is my godfather," Draco interrupted. He was aware that Pettigrew was probably listening, so he kept his information to things anyone would've heard if they knew anything about the war. "And he served as a spy for Dumbledore. He's a bit prickly, but he risked his life to help the Order."

Ron frowned. "Two of the people you named were _Death Eaters_-"

"Regulus Black wouldn't have had much choice," said Draco. "I don't think you _get _how the old pureblood families work, not the elite ones. To them, it's either behave like an elitist bigot or get disowned, and I won't fault him for wanting to remain a part of his family."

Ron nodded reluctantly, although he completely missed the outside implication of Draco's words.

Neville didn't. "Are you going to get… you know? Because you haven't acted like much of an elitist bigot so far."

Draco sighed. "Eventually, I imagine I will. Being in Gryffindor is bad enough, but I have no plans to behavior in a manner that my father would consider at all appropriate." He looked at Ron. "I wouldn't be talking with you if I wanted to make him happy… I wouldn't be talking to either of you, actually. I would've thrown a fit about my house, and I'd already be complaining about all the Muggleborns at this table. But because I won't do any of it, well... Let's just say Lucius won't be happy."

Both of them stared at him in horror, obviously not knowing what to say.

Ron was the first one to take a crack at it. "If you need a place to stay, there's extra space at the Burrow," he said, looking embarrassed. "I mean, it wouldn't be anything like what you're used to, but Charlie and Bill are both gone, so their rooms are open…"

Draco gaped. "I'm a _Malfoy_."

The other boy's expression closed up, and he glared. "_Fine _then. If you'd rather live on the street-"

"No, you stupid prat," Draco cut in quickly. "That's not what I meant. It's just- your family doesn't like Malfoys. Our parents have a _feud. _I would've thought you wouldn't even want them to know you're friends with me. Then you say you'd let me _live_ with you…" The Slytherins he knew wouldn't have done anything like that; if they had connections that their families wouldn't approve of, they hid them until they could disentangle themselves from the unwanted party as quietly as possible. They didn't befriend undesirables and offer them places to live.

His other self had been wrong, Draco decided firmly. Ron Weasley wasn't so bad at all. A bit of a blundering idiot, but decent. And maybe Draco could even help him work on the blundering idiot part.

"Oh," said Ron. "But you're good for a Malfoy, and I bet my parents would see that too."

"Well… thanks." Draco cleared his throat. "But I wouldn't _not _have a place to go, I don't think. If nothing else, I have that aunt I was talking about; I bet she'd take in a fellow disowned family member." He couldn't mention that he hoped he could wrangle a freed Sirius Black into taking care of him; that would be a bit premature, all things considered.

"S'not a problem," Ron said.

There was an awkward silence, but Fred and George broke it when they came over and plopped down on either side of Draco, asking him if he had any sneaky Slytherin tips that'd help them with their pranks. Draco smirked and began giving them lessons on cunning and strategy, figuring he'd better put his years of extra knowledge to good use.

If nothing else, maybe he could wrangle them into giving him free stuff at their joke shop after they got around to starting it up.

...

**Author's Note: **

**Thank you so much for the reviews. I really don't have much to say. I think I answered any questions that people had, but if there's something you want to know, feel free to leave a review or PM and I'll get back to you ASAP. I'm glad people seem to be liking it so far, and I hope the positive reactions will continue. **


	3. Oh Rats

Even though he was tired after his long day, Draco didn't go to sleep that night. Not only did he know that he needed to write his parents about his placement in Gryffindor; he also had a sneaking suspicion that a certain rat hadn't liked the promise to talk to Dumbledore that Draco had given Harry. He didn't know if Pettigrew planned on doing a memory charm or casting something that would cause more permanent damage, but he had no doubt that the animagus would try _something _to stop Draco from sharing his 'theory' with the Headmaster.

Pulling his curtains around his bed and putting a silencing charm in the fabric, Draco pulled out a piece of parchment and began writing, keeping his wand close at hand just in case.

_Dear Mother and Father, _

_I'm sure you've heard already that I've been sorted into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. I would apologize for disappointing you, but I am frankly glad of my placement. I have already befriended Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom. They have confidence issues and need to work on their social skills, but they are friendly and we get along well. I haven't spoken much with my other roommates; I believe they are afraid of me. I suppose it will simply take them a while to get used to having a Malfoy in the house. _

_Professor McGonagall is my Head of House. She is stern, and I think she's under the impression that the Hat made a mistake; I don't know why she'd think as much. It never has before, but I guess some people are just prejudiced like that. _

_Speaking of odd sortings—Harry Potter is in Slytherin. It was quite shocking, but I believe he'll do well there; we spoke quite a bit on the train, and he has certain qualities that certainly suit the house. _

_It's getting late, and I have to get to sleep. If you do not reply to this letter, I will take it to mean that you no longer wish me to write and will not bother you again. I understand that this must be an unpleasant surprise. _

_Draco _

He rolled up the letter and put it on his bedside table to have delivered the next morning, somehow managing to feel both relieved and oddly empty at the same time. The letter would almost certainly get his parents off his back (not in the good way either, but in the 'disappointed and no longer wish to associate with you' way, but well... not all of him _wanted _that sort of distance. The part of Draco that hadn't entirely accepted what happened in the other Draco's future wasn't as happy about how things had gone as he logically knew he should be.

He assumed that the inner conflict was simply something he'd have to grow used to.

Doing his best to ignore the more unpleasant of his feelings, Draco crossed his legs and rested his head back against the headboard, wand dangling lazily in his hand as he waited.

Within an hour, he heard a rustling from beside his bed. Draco smirked and lifted his wand just as the curtain was drawn back to reveal a dirt-covered face that he'd seen much too often in the other Draco's memories.

Pettigrew almost fell over backwards when he saw that Draco was waiting for him.

"_Petrificus Totalus," _said Draco with a flick of his wrist. The rat's eyes widened in horror, but Pettigrew didn't have time to get away before the spell hit him and he fell backwards. Draco scrambled out of bed, undid the silencing charms on his curtains—he didn't want anyone noticing the use of advanced magic—and threw his head back and screamed bloody murder, internally laughing all the while.

_Stumped by a first year, you little creep_, thought Draco, almost giddy with pleasure. Not only would Pettigrew's presence go a long ways towards proving Black's innocence; Draco had also apprehended the person who'd brought Voldemort back in the other timeline. The first day of his first year hadn't even officially started, and he was already doing better than Potter ever had.

He wasn't entirely sure, but either it meant he was on the path to redemption (if the other Draco's mistakes could be counted as his own) or heroism. Really, he didn't much care which it was; both sounded impressive, and they were certainly superior alternatives to the paths the other Draco had taken.

"Oh, Merlin!" cried Neville, once Draco's scream had registered.

"Who is it?" asked Ron groggily, peeking out from behind his curtains.

"I-I don't know," said Draco, doing his best to look fearful. "I think… I've seen old pictures, and I almost think it's Peter Pettigrew, and-" His eyes widened, and he gasped. "_Look_! He's missing a finger."

Seamus Finnegan's eyes widened. "They said that was all that was left of him!"

Draco nodded furiously as the door opened and other students came streaming in. First the prefects, but when rumor spread that a man had been found breaking into the dorm, half the house crowded around the door. Finally, a stern voice told them to all clear away. "It's no doubt a joke," said Professor McGonagall, "I'm sure there isn't a man…"

Her statement trailed off when she saw Pettigrew lying petrified on the floor.

"Draco got him," said Neville.

"My father told me never to sleep too lightly, because that was when your enemies tried to come after you," said Draco reasonably. He frowned. "I think that's Peter Pettigrew, Professor."

She nodded mutely. "I-it is, but…"

"He's missing a finger," Seamus explained.

"Actually, I was just telling Ron and Harry on the way up that I thought Sirius Black was innocent. I thought Harry ought to know, Sirius being his godfather and all. I said that it was suspicious that Black had disintegrated Pettigrew and just left a finger, especially since the Muggles had all been killed in a completely different manner. I told them that it looked like Black had been framed. We decided that the Aurors must've thought of that and that it was probably nothing, but I promised to talk to the Headmaster about it, just to be sure." Draco looked at McGonagall with wide eyes. "Do you think he _heard_?"

"Oh, dear Merlin," breathed McGonagall, looking more flustered than even the other Draco had seen her. She looked at Draco. "You, stay here. The Headmaster is coming, and I want you to tell him everything you just told me. The rest of you first years, go to the common room. This is… oh, goodness. I wasn't expecting this."

"Good luck," mouthed Neville, as he followed a shocked Seamus and Dean from the room.

"P-Professor?" Ron cut in, eyes wide. "Scabbers—my rat—is gone. I c-can't-" He looked devastated. "He was missing a toe, Professor, a-and he was in the compartment when Draco was talking-"

Draco was almost impressed that Ron had made the connection so quickly; then again, Draco had narrowed things down to the point where it wasn't all that difficult to figure out.

"An animagus," McGonagall breathed. "Mister Weasley, I want you to stay as well."

Ron nodded, and he and Draco plopped down on the bed, their eyes fixed on Pettigrew. The man didn't look much different than he had when he was staying at Malfoy Manor in the other Draco's timeline. He had both hands now, but the only other difference was that he was a bit less pudgy. He likely didn't get as much to eat as the Weasley's rat as he did as Voldemort's pet. As much as the Dark Lord hated Wormtail, the creep had shown him where the Potters lived, and played the largest part in resurrecting him later on. That'd given him more status than even the Malfoys in some ways. He'd been the perfect servant; brave enough to risk himself for his master, and stupid enough to do whatever was asked of him.

It was disgusting, really. The man might've been a Gryffindor, but he also demonstrated the least palatable characteristic attributed to Slytherins: he served his own best interests at the cost of everyone around him.

_That's exactly who I was in that other world_, thought Draco, but he pushed the thought from his head. He'd changed, so he didn't have to worry about that anymore. Even the Hat had said he was different.

"How did you know how to petrify him?" asked McGonagall. She was frowning at Pettigrew, but hadn't yet done anything to move him. Draco imagined they were to wait for Dumbledore before taking further action.

"My father," said Draco. "I've already been tutored a little."

She pursed her lips. "It was impressive," she admitted. "I can't say whether your suspicions are true, but… it is a logical explanation."

"I had him in my _lap_," Ron muttered, looking disgusted.

Draco couldn't stop a snigger, and the redhead glared. "Oh, come on. You're just coming to Hogwarts, so I'd think you only got him this year. Just imagine what whatever brother he belonged to before has to be embarrassed about."

"_Percy_," said Ron. "I bet Pettigrew caught him singing Celstia Warbeck. I just _know _he likes her, even if he won't admit it."

"You're kidding-" Draco caught McGonagall's incredulous expression and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Professor. It's easier to laugh about all this, I suppose. It _was _a bit of a shock, you know."

"It was horrifying," Ron added. He smiled hopefully. "Actually, speaking of horrifying—I think we handled such a terrible situation awfully well for first years. Maybe well enough to deserve a few points..."

"And people think _I _should be in Slytherin," muttered Draco.

"_Hey_. It was a very Gryffindor question. I was brave enough to ask, and it was a bit reckless of me. So…?"

Draco figured he might as well put his lot in with Ron's and mirrored the other boy's hopeful smile. McGonagall looked to the heavens as though wondering how on earth she was going to deal with them for seven whole years, but said, "Very well. Mister Weasley, you will get fifteen points for cleverness; linking Pettigrew to your rat was an impressive display of critical thinking." She turned to Draco. "Mister Malfoy… you will get ten points for vigilance, ten for cleverness, and thirty for the bravery and skill that went into apprehending a full-grown wizard." She frowned. "Although, I'm afraid I must ask—what _were _you doing up at this time of night?"

He wrinkled his nose as though smelling something unpleasant.

"I was trying to figure out how to write my parents."

Her expression turned sympathetic, but she merely said, "Well, I suppose it's a good thing you were awake."

There was respect in her eyes, and Draco felt as though he'd received something more valuable than points. He wasn't certain that she trusted him yet, but she was looking at him with dawning awareness, as though just understanding that he might actually be a real Gryffindor.

The notion wasn't nearly as horrifying as he would've found it just a matter of months ago. In fact, so long as he didn't start jumping into dangerous situations like an idiot, he thought being seen as a real Gryffindor might just be something to be proud of.

…

Before long, Dumbledore showed up, his brows drawn together, lips pursed into a thin line. His displeasure became even more evident when he saw Pettigrew lying on the floor. McGonagall told Draco and Ron to explain the situation as best they could, and the two first years did so gladly, taking turns telling Dumbledore about the conversation on the train. Draco took over after that and described as innocently as he could how he'd been writing to his parents when he heard a rustling near his bed.

"I grabbed my wand just in case, and when he peeked in, I got scared and did the first spell I could remember. Then I started screaming."

"Professor McGonagall showed up after a while and told everyone but Draco to go to the common room," Ron added. "I started to leave, but Scabbers wasn't there when I went to grab him. I remembered that he was missing a toe and was _really _old for a rat… and I thought it couldn't be coincidence, that someone without a finger who'd been missing for as long as we had Scabbers had appeared out of nowhere, right when Scabbers disappeared."

"That's when Professor McGonagall guessed that he was an animagus," Draco concluded.

Dumbledore smiled at the both of them, eyes lingering on Draco. Draco put up his occulamency shields like he'd learned from his other self, but the Headmaster didn't try reading his thoughts—only studied his features for a moment, as though looking for something specific.

He must've found whatever he was trying to find, because his eyes started twinkling even more brightly than usual.

"You both did well," said Dumbledore. "Pettigrew will need to be taken into custody and interrogated, and if my suspicions are correct—though I trust you not to mention this to Mister Potter, in case I am mistaken—Sirius Black will soon be freed from Azkaban. Your shrewdness might have saved an innocent man from a life in prison. If things turn out as I expect they will, I believe I'll award Gryffindor fifty points."

Not wanting to get on McGonagall's bad side so soon after gaining her approval, Draco thought that he might as well be honest; after all, it wasn't like his Head of House wouldn't have told Dumbledore anyway. "Professor McGonagall already gave us points, sir."

"Ah, but that was for apprehending Pettigrew. If I reward Gryffindor again, it will be for taking a proactive approach to a case that was considered closed years ago. If you hadn't voiced your intention to act, Pettigrew likely would not have risked abandoning his disguise. By taking initiative, you very well could have played an integral part in apprehending a murderer and freeing an innocent man." He smiled. "However, for being honest even at the cost of house points, I shall give you ten right at this moment."

"Thank you, Professor," said Draco, even though he almost thought it were a bit much; he could see how Gryffindor had always won the House Cup in the other Draco's memories. The favoritism was absolutely ridiculous.

Dumbledore merely chuckled as he lifted Pettigrew with his wand and carted him away. Professor McGonagall asked Draco and Ron if they were alright to go back to sleep, and they assured her that they were fine, if not a little startled. Satisfied, she left them alone and went to the common room to tell the others that they could return. They barraged Draco and Ron with questions, and the two wound up explaining everything all over again. Draco's smirk grew with every gasp the others gave, even as Ron's face went redder and redder with embarrassed pleasure. Finally, his eyes shining, Draco concluded by telling them that they'd earned eighty-five points between the two of them, "And I'll get another fifty if it turns out Black is innocent!"

"You're amazing," said Neville to both of them.

"I _knew _Hogwarts would be awesome," said Dean.

"I love you," said Seamus.

Draco laughed delightedly, before reluctantly suggesting that they all return to bed; they still had classes tomorrow, and he didn't want to be tired for his first day. The others agreed reluctantly, and Draco lie down as well, even though he was too keyed up to fall asleep for a long time afterwards.

...

Draco had expected there to be a commotion when he and Ron went down to breakfast the next morning.

He was right. It seemed the story had already spread between houses. From Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin there was a lot of pointing and whispering, and Gryffindor gave them a standing ovation. Ron preened, and a pink-faced Draco did a theatrical bow, doing his best to hide how genuinely pleased he was at the reception. Even though having future knowledge did feel a bit like cheating, something in Draco loosened at the broad smiles sent in his direction.

He was even more thrilled at the quantity of rubies in the Gryffindor counter; it looked especially impressive next to the empty hourglasses on either side of it.

"Eighty-five points," said one of the twins, shaking his head when Draco sat beside him.

"And fifty more if Sirius Black is cleared," added the other.

"Which he ought to be."

"I mean-

"-obviously Scabbers is guilty."

They both shook their heads. "Ickle Ronniekins and a _Malfoy_-

"-earning nearly a hundred points before the first day."

"I'm not sure if I should be disgusted-

"-or impressed."

"I took out a mass murderer," Draco said. "Be impressed."

"I was impressive too," added Ron.

"You weren't bad," a twin teased, although he was smiling.

Percy sat down across from them. "Ron, I heard what happened. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said. He made a face. "A bit upset about Scabbers, but he was an ugly rat anyway. I'd rather have the house points."

Draco agreed. The rat had been a horrid pet. He'd have to get Ron something else for Christmas. An owl would be more practical, since his other self remembered that Ron was using a useless family owl at the moment. Then again, practical wasn't very fun. He could see Ron appreciating a cat. Not a toad—toads were out of fashion, although he supposed he ought not to be thinking like that since Neville had one. He was working on being more considerate than the other Draco; it wouldn't do to be insulting Trevor.

Not out loud.

At least not blatantly enough that Neville would understand it.

"I still can't believe I never noticed anything off about him," said Percy, shaking his head.

"Neither can I," Draco piped up, trying and failing not to sneer. "What sort of rat lives for _ten years?" _

"What sort of person assumes their rat is an escaped convict because it lives for an oddly long time?" Percy retorted sharply.

"Touché," said Draco, mostly because he didn't feel like squabbling over it. Percy opened his mouth as though unsure he wanted to let the matter go, but then he seemed to see just how pathetic it was to get into an argument with a first year and started piling his plate with food instead. His brothers followed his example, and soon Draco was surrounded by the rather discomfiting sight of four eating Weasleys. It wasn't so much that they were all slobs; they simply consumed an unsettling amount of food.

Well, except for Ron. _H__e _was a slob.

"Close your mouth and chew," Draco told him absently, most of his attention focused on peeling his orange. He liked apples better, but there weren't any in the nearest bowl. He'd have to go to the kitchens at some point and talk to the house elves about it.

"Remember what I said about you being a prat?" asked Ron, ears going pink.

"My mother says that it's better to point out other's flaws than let them embarrass themselves. That is, of course, unless doing so would cause irreparable offense." He considered that, and added, "And quite honestly, if you took irreparable offense at something so insignificant, I don't think I'd want to bother dealing with you anyway."

"Prat," Ron repeated.

"I think he's cute," said a twin.

"Very… precocious," said the other.

"I take offense to being called cute," said Draco. He frowned. "And I _still _have no idea which one of you is which."

"Fred on the left, George on the right," said Percy. "George has more freckles, and Fred has a mole by his right ear."

Draco studied them carefully, eyes lighting up when he caught the subtle variances. "Thank you, Percy. You're a good man."

"_Percy_!" said Fred.

"You're going to _ruin _us."

"That'd be the day," Percy muttered, rolling his eyes as the twins started discussing ways to subvert Percy's disclosure.

Fred was just suggesting a memory charm when McGonagall came by with their timetables. She eyed Draco when she saw him surrounded by Weasleys, but the suspicion in her eyes was gone; now, there was only the slightest trace of bewilderment, as though she accepted that he belonged in her house but didn't quite understand how it'd happened.

"It's nice to see that you've made friends already, Mr. Malfoy," she said when she handed him his paper.

He smirked. "Yes, well. It comes very naturally to me, seeing as I'm so naturally charming and elegant."

She gave him an unreadable expression when she handed him the paper, but Draco could've sworn she turned her head to hide a smile as she walked away.

"Ugh, _really?" _asked Ron. "Charming and elegant?"

"Obviously." He looked over his schedule and gave a small sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin. No potions until Friday. I think Snape figured I'd be in Slytherin, and I know he was expecting Potter to be in Gryffindor. I don't want to imagine how he'll react to having us both in the same class."

"His _godson _in Gryffindor," said George, shaking his head. "That's spectacular."

"I just hope he isn't too harsh," Draco said. "I know he has a reputation for being unfair to Gryffindors. I wonder if he'll make an exception for me." He glanced at the staff table, cringing when he noticed that Snape was glaring at him.

"I think he knows we're talking about him," said George.

"He has a talent for it," said Fred.

"Bat-like hearing," added George.

"Ooh, that was clever."

They grinned at each other, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Weasleys," he muttered, even as a smile twitched at his lips. Honestly, between Weasleys and future Death Eaters, he'd chose the Weasleys any day.

...

...

**Author's Note: **

**Alright, because I was too busy to do review replies, I'm going to comment on some stuff here: **

**My portrayal of Ron- I've noticed that most stories featuring Draco in a positive light feature Ron in a negative one. Yes, I believe that Ron is, in many ways, less typically heroic than the other members of the Golden Trio, and his behavior in GOF and DH has earned him a lot of criticism. He's also had good moments. I don't intend to ignore those. I hope to make him as IC as possible, allowing for Draco's influence and the things that will change because of it. In other words, nope; no Ron bashing. **

**The Sorting- See the Hat scene for why I put Draco where I did. Harry's placement will be explained a bit more next chapter. Draco wasn't wrong in what he concluded, but something else Draco mentioned also gave him a bit of a push to _want _to be in Slytherin... And while I didn't particularly have Quidditch in mind when I put them in separate houses, it definitely makes things easier on that account. **

**In general- thanks for commenting, and also for anyone who favorited/followed this. I appreciate it. **

**Lastly, as a shameless self plug: check out my other current story, Harry Potter and the Warrior's Code. It's in Harry's POV, but Draco is a significant character from chapter three or four on. **

**That's it, I think. Please review, and hopefully I'll have another update posted within a week or two. **


	4. Role Reversal

The first few days of classes were nothing exceptional. As the Gryffindors and Slytherins were separated in every class save for potions, Draco didn't get a chance to speak with Harry beyond exchanging a few words in the corridors every now and then. To his surprise, he wasn't as upset by this as he might've been. After the incident with Pettigrew, Ron started gravitating towards Draco, and Draco found that he enjoyed the redhead's utter guilelessness enough to let him do so. While Draco was sometimes tempted to cast a silencing hex on the moron, it was nice having a friend who was entirely without airs, and every once in a while Draco even cracked a smile at behavior that he once would have considered blatant idiocy.

The rest of the Weasleys seemed to pop up in his life with an odd frequency as well. Percy had snapped at a couple older students for whispering about Lucius while Draco was in hearing range-they'd called him a no-good Death Eater, which really wasn't anything but the truth-and Fred and George had gotten in the habit of sitting near him at meals. They were shockingly witty, much more so than the other Draco remembered, and he had a fun time bickering with the two of them over the most ridiculous things.

Outside of the Weasleys, Draco spent most of his free time with Neville. He also made an effort to get close to Hermione Granger, but she couldn't seem to get over the rumors that a few suspicious Gryffindors were still spreading about his family.

"Why?" she demanded, after he'd offered to partner with her in Transfiguration for the first time.

"Why do you bloody well think?" asked Draco. "I'm intelligent. You're intelligent. Everyone else in this room practically needs assistance dressing themselves each morning. I'm trying to spare my sanity."

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't believe you. Lavender says that you're cruel and bigoted-" Draco greatly doubted that Lavender Brown knew what bigoted meant, but bit his tongue against saying so, "-and that you might try to hurt me because I'm a Muggleborn."

Draco snorted. "My new best friend is a _Weasley_. They're the worst sort of blood traitors there are. If I were concerned with that sort of thing, I wouldn't let myself be seen anywhere near him."

"You don't sound like you think he's your best friend."

He was very tempted to hex her for being so bloody irritating, and then recalled that he'd allowed his father to rape and kill her in another timeline. Instantly, he felt insanely guilty over his wish to do her harm. He then felt irritated for feeling guilty because none of it had _actually _happened, and it hadn't been _him _who'd stood by and let his father hurt her anyway. It'd been that other Draco, who killed people and did whatever Voldemort asked because he was too much of a coward not to.

"Because I sound vaguely insulting when I talk about him? I'm like that with everyone," said Draco, pushing thoughts of his other self from his head. Hermione opened her mouth to say something else, and Draco huffed. "Look. I'm not an idiot. If I wanted to hurt you like you seem to think, I wouldn't do it _in class. _I also won't sabotage your grade-and honestly, I'm pretty sure you'd think that was _worse_-because it would mean damaging my own. So just budge over and save your paranoia for when you might actually need it. Alright?"

She opened her mouth, but shut it after a moment and nodded, allowing him to sit next to her.

They were the first ones to complete the assignment, and when (after a similar argument) he convinced her to partner with him in charms as well, they shared similar success. After that, it became a given that they worked together whenever they were given practical work. She never spoke to him outside of class, however, and as she didn't like Ron any more than she did Draco, his clumsy attempts at getting closer to the bushy-haired Muggleborn were largely unsuccessful.

It was a bit frustrating really, and by the time Friday rolled around, Draco was relieved that he'd have double potions with Harry. Fond as he was of Ron and Neville, he really wanted to have a friendly conversation with someone in his year who had real _sense. _

The door to the potions lab was closed when he arrived, but that gave Draco the opportunity to talk with his Slytherin friend. Ignoring the odd looks the other Slytherins gave him, Draco headed over to where Harry was talking with Blaise Zabini. Everyone went silent at the sight of a Gryffindor willingly seeking out a Slytherin, but Draco pretended not to notice. Harry did the same, smiling broadly when he caught sight of the blond.

"I haven't gotten the chance to say anything, but it's really amazing what you did that first night," Harry said excitedly. "You caught Peter Pettigrew, and everyone thinks my godfather is going to be released from prison."

So much for Harry not finding out. Dumbledore should have known that secrets didn't stay secrets at Hogwarts. Not for very long.

"I know, I know. I'm sensational. No need to fawn."

"Oh, quit acting like you're joking. It's amazing, Draco. I might finally have family."

Harry looked like he was about to hug him, and Draco stepped back a little, just in case.

"Merlin, it's hard to believe you're in Slytherin given your propensity for emotional nonsense," he drawled, keeping his tone light to let Harry know he was joking.

Harry smiled sheepishly. "I think a lot of people have a hard time believing I'm in Slytherin."

"No kidding," Blaise muttered. "I'm not sure which of you two is more surprising. A Slytherin Potter or a Gryffindor Malfoy." The dark-skinned boy peered at Draco. "What _on earth _happened?"

To Draco's relief, he didn't sound disgusted or irritated. Merely curious.

"I suppose I was simply more brave than cunning," Draco said, shrugging. He looked to Harry. "I'm more interested in what went on with you, really. What did the Hat say?"

"Well, it told me I'd do well in either Gryffindor or Slytherin, and it was going back and forth a bit. I thought Gryffindor at first, since you and Neville were already there, but then I remembered what you said about Professor Snape and my parents. I knew he was head of Slytherin, so I thought maybe he wouldn't hate me so much if I were here—you know, that it'd show him I'm not my father. And, well... I kind of thought that being in his house might get him to like me enough to talk about my mother." He scratched his head embarrassedly. "I also liked the bit you mentioned about Slytherins being self-reliant."

Draco frowned, eyes narrowing as he remembered Harry's appearance when they first met in Diagon Alley. Even now, he was obviously much too thin. "You've had to take care of yourself for a while, haven't you?"

"Doesn't matter," said Harry, looking embarrassed.

He thought that it _did _matter, even wondered whether Harry hadn't been shoved off to the side to the point of criminal neglect, but the door opened before he could say anything. Snape peered at the students gathered in front of his room, obviously making a point of being as frightening as possible, aquiline features twisted in an expression of barely concealed disdain.

"Inside," he ordered, and turned sharply into the room, robes billowing behind him. The Gryffindors scrambled to follow, terrified both of his appearance and the rumors they almost certainly would've heard about him. Draco rolled his eyes and trailed in with the Slytherins.

"You should sit by me," said Harry, frowning when he saw how the Slytherins drifted to one side of the room and the Gryffindors to the other. "Maybe it'll make the rest of them see that it's okay."

Draco didn't think it'd make much difference, but he did take a seat next to the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry had made a point of choosing the front desk in the middle of the room; it was more than a little obvious that he wanted to make a good impression on Snape, and Draco hoped that this would play out differently than it had in the other timeline. Maybe Snape would refrain from his questioning because Harry was a Slytherin, or maybe Harry had read a little in advance so he could impress the professor by whom he clearly wished to be liked. Either way, knowing that Snape had known his mother obviously made Harry eager to earn the man's approval, and it would surely hurt him if he were treated with the same derision as he'd been in the other Draco's memories.

Snape started with the same speech he had before, and Draco found it every bit as mesmerizing as his first self had. He'd always liked potions—or, he corrected himself hurriedly, the _other _Draco had always liked potions—and it'd been a bonding point between the professor and himself during his time at Hogwarts. Draco also appreciated the way Snape managed to capture every student's attention without speaking above a low murmur; he found the effect frightening and brilliant at the same time.

About halfway through the speech, Draco noticed that Harry was taking notes and quickly moved to do the same, well aware that having nearly twenty years' of potions experience built up in his head wouldn't be a believable excuse for slacking off. Snape soon paused to take roll—Draco noticed Harry's face fall when the professor sneered over his name, and put a reassuring hand on the other boy's arm—then quickly launched into another lecture.

Draco knew it was coming, but he still tensed when Snape stopped and without warning demanded, "Since you seem to think you know enough to get away with _doodling _in this class, tell me—what is Golpatt's Third Law?"

The content of the question threw him off, and Draco looked up in shock, blinking when he realized that his godfather's eyes were on _him_, and not Harry.

He could hardly speak for surprise that Snape would question him in such a manner, but he recovered quickly. His godfather was clearly testing him; giving Draco a question no normal first year could answer to determine whether he'd respond like a Gryffindor or a Slytherin. He wanted to see if Draco would make a point of being obnoxious, or if he'd retain a cool head as his father had taught him.

Draco held back a smirk. It seemed that Snape's experiment didn't take into account the possibility that Draco _wasn't _a normal first year.

"Golpatt's Third Law states that an antidote to a blended poison is more than the sum of its parts, _sir_."

Snape's eyes narrowed, but he didn't pause before demanding another answer. "What would be an acceptable remedy to a situation in which Golpatt's Third Law is applicable?"

Draco reclined further into his chair, making a point of looking comfortable in a situation that would've had any other Gryffindor squirming. "There are a number of specifically brewed potions that could work, but they would have to use a variety of ingredients from the antidotes of the mixed poisons, and as such would be expensive and difficult to obtain. The simplest solution would be to swallow a bezoar_._" He smiled as innocently as he could manage. "Are we really expected to know this, or can I leave it out of the _notes I've been taking_?"

Snape actually pulled up short at that, but rallied quickly. "I'd merely been wondering whether a night in Gryffindor has left you stupid. Apparently your sorting hasn't rotted your brain _quite _yet," he drawled, his voice clipped but not angry. Draco relaxed, only to tense up all over again when Snape turned to Harry. "Where would I find a bezoar, Potter?"

Harry fidgeted for a moment, but replied with some confidence, "In the stomach of a goat, sir?" _Good. So he read the first chapter this time. _

"Correct," said Snape, surprise flashing briefly in his eyes. "Five points for Slytherin."

"_What? _That's ridiculous!"

Draco gritted his teeth at the sound of Ron's voice. That bloody idiot! Yes, it was infuriating that Snape was prejudiced in giving house points, but they'd just gotten eighty-five and were due fifty more; with how liberally Dumbledore and McGonagall favored the Gryffindors, it was only fair that Snape even things out. Ron could hardly complain about Draco not getting points anyway, not when there'd been enough cheek in his last response that Snape could've justified _taking _them.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape said absently, and Ron flushed with anger and embarrassment. The professor paused, as though to wrestle every bit of enjoyment he could from Ron's (admittedly amusing) expression, then added, "And detention for speaking out in class. If I were you, I would keep your head down; a friendship with a Malfoy cannot get you _everything _in life, even if it's gained you a fair amount of unwarranted fame thus far."

Ron opened his mouth again, but Draco gestured frantically for him to keep his mouth shut. If Snape saw Draco's rather spastic hand-waving, he didn't comment, likely too entertained by the situation.

Thankfully, Neville whispered something to Ron that convinced him to control himself. Snape gave one last sneer before resuming his series of questions, although Draco noticed he didn't give anyone else anything above first year material. Still, the responses—especially from the Gryffindors, he noted miserably—were rather pathetic (bastard never called on he or Granger _once_), and by the time he finally put directions for a simple potion on the board, half the class was frustrated and the other practically radiating satisfaction.

"That wasn't very fair," Harry muttered as he and Draco started brewing.

"You saw the point counters this morning," Draco replied, keeping his voice low. "Gryffindor got a huge lead mostly because of dumb luck; Dumbledore favors his old house, so we got more points than capturing Pettigrew was worth. I've heard that the other professors discriminate against Slytherin as well. Snape balances it. Just… more harshly than he needs to. He sticks up for his Slytherins because no one else will. At least that's how I understand it."

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Malfoy. This is not the time to gossip."

Harry's head flew up. "He was _defending you_, professor."

Snape's expression didn't change, but Draco could see in his eyes that his godfather was surprised.

"He can defend me after class," he said evenly. "Now get back to work, Potter."

Draco shot Harry a reassuring smile—he really did respect Snape, and he knew the other man had his reasons for behaving as he did—before getting back to their brewing. Harry was better at potions than Draco would have expected from his other self's memories (Draco imagined his incompetence before could be contributed largely to his fear and hatred towards the instructor), and even with Draco taking care not to show much more competence than an especially talented first year, they were the first group finished. Draco let his friend present the finished product to Snape, knowing that the other boy wanted to impress his Head of House.

Of course, said Head of House didn't say a word when Harry handed over the potion, but he also didn't insult him. Harry seemed to sense that it was a victory of sorts, because he smiled tentatively at Draco when he reclaimed his seat.

_That could have gone worse, _thought Draco with some relief. Despite feeling the slightest bit irritated with Snape, he was glad that Harry hadn't burnt his bridges with the man like he had last time. Maybe, with Harry in Slytherin, they really would have a chance to become closer. It was very Gryffindorish of him to hope his friend and godfather could get along, but Draco stood by the sentiment, even when he felt Snape's glare burning into his back as he lingered behind while Ron gathered his things after class.

"Have a good afternoon, Professor," Draco called as they left.

Snape pursed his lips, but said nothing.

Draco merely shrugged at Ron, mouthed, "What do you do?" and dragged the redhead from the classroom before he took the question literally and responded with something that'd cost them more points.

…

Draco knew he was probably abusing his knowledge of the future, but when his first flying lesson came around, he had a very non-Gryffindor plan for it. Honestly, if Harry had been in Gryffindor, he might have done the fair thing and let him get the open seeker spot; as it was, Harry was in Slytherin, and while Draco knew he was better than the team's current seeker, Snape had class at the moment. McGonagall was watching the lesson from _somewhere_, and therefore Draco had the opportunity to show off for his Head of House. Harry didn't.

Besides, he was saving Harry from the cursed broomstick incident. There was _some _altruism to his scheme. Albeit very little, but then again, being a Gryffindor didn't exactly make him a saint.

He could barely keep the smirk off his face when Madam Hooch started giving instructions. As expected, Neville soon went airborne in his nervousness. Draco, feeling much too noble to let his friend crash to the ground without anything to break his fall, subtly cast a silent cushioning charm right as the other boy tumbled from his broom. There was still a noticeable _thud _when he hit, but he wasn't clutching his wrist like he'd been in the other Draco's memories. For a second, Draco worried that Madam Hooch wouldn't take him away since he was uninjured, but to his relief, she insisted on seeing him checked over; he assumed that thirty-foot falls were disastrous enough that she wasn't about to chance leaving a potential injury go undiscovered.

"Stay here while I take this boy to the hospital wing!" Madam Hooch commanded as she dragged Neville off. "Touch your brooms, and you'll be expelled from Hogwarts faster than I can say Quidditch."

"I doubt she'd expel anyone," Draco muttered to Ron. "You wouldn't believe the stuff I've heard they let people get away with at Hogwarts."

"Look!" said Theodore Nott, and Draco turned slowly to face him, doing his best to hide his satisfaction at how things were playing out; oh, this was going to be so good. Sometimes, Slytherins simply didn't know when to leave well enough alone. "That great lump dropped his Remembrall!"

"Hey, that's Neville's!" cried Draco indignantly, using his best 'Weasley' voice, with the proud, indignant sort of tone that served better to egg people on than force compliance. "Give it back!" He blatantly glanced towards Nott's broom, as though he were worried about the other boy taking off with the Remembrall.

_Come on, Theo. _

The other Slytherin's eyes flashed with amusement. "Ooh, you're worried I'll run off on you?"

"Don't you dare!" _Idiot. _

Nott grabbed his broomstick and threw one leg over. "Just try to catch me, _blood traitor._"

Draco's grin took up his whole face as Nott left the ground. Quickly, Draco scrambled to follow, congratulating himself on his magnificent acting skills as he climbed on his broom and flew after Nott. Despite everything, it was nice to know that he still had a little bit of Slytherin in him.

"Neville's grandmother gave that to him!" Draco snapped, inching closer to the other boy. He made a blatant grab for it, but Nott ducked out of the way. The blond feigned frustration. "_Give it back." _

Nott smirked. "Why don't you get it yourself?"

And he tossed the Remembrall.

_Oh, you stupid bastard, _thought Draco delightedly, and he took off after the ball as best he could on his awful broom. Even with his experience, it was a difficult catch to make; he nearly dove straight into the ground as his fingers clasped around the orb, only pulling up at the last second and managing a fairly even landing.

He waited one second, then two, and: "DRACO MALFOY!"

"Nott threw Neville's Remembrall," Parvarti Patil piped up.

"It would've broken!" Ron added.

"His _neck _could've broken." She looked at Draco, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "How _dare you_! And to think, I had my doubts that you belonged in Gryffindor, you little—oh, if your father would've found out you'd gotten injured in an unattended class-"

"I don't know how much he'd care, considering," Draco cut in.

She shut her mouth and glanced at him sharply. Obviously not knowing what to say to that, she shook her head and merely snapped, "Mister Malfoy, come with me."

Ten minutes later, McGonagall had pulled Oliver Wood out of class and told him that he had a new seeker.

"_Malfoy_?" asked Oliver incredulously.

"Practice with him," said McGonagall, shaking her head. "He's as good as Charlie."

Oliver's eyes widened. "Right then." He looked at Draco. "Be at the pitch at seven. I wanna see this for myself."

It was all Draco could do not to skip back to the common room.

…

That evening, Oliver escorted Draco back to Gryffindor Tower with a grin on his face, bragging that Gryffindor would _surely _win its first Quidditch cup in years. He had a hand on Draco's shoulder and was looking at him as though he were his own personal lord and savior.

Draco couldn't remember ever having been so happy in his life.

...

...

...

**Author's Note: **

**A bit later than I'd expected, but real life does that to you, you know. Not a lot happened. Hopefully Harry's sorting was justified a bit better, and of course there's Draco abusing his knowledge of the future to get on the Quidditch team. Hermione finally garnered a mention too, albeit a brief one. As to why I have her so suspicious of Draco-I do think some Gryffindors, especially ones who were raised in the wizarding world, would express blatant distrust towards a Malfoy, even one in Gryffindor. Add to that the fact that pretty much everyone treated Hermione poorly until Halloween, and she wouldn't trust that a Malfoy who was already somewhat popular (courtesy of his Pettigrew stunt) would actually _want _to spend time with her. She doesn't have anything against him; she's simply trying to protect herself. **

**As for Snape: no, he doesn't like Harry yet. But with Harry in Slytherin, he really can't act coldly towards him in public without ruining the impression that he blatantly favors his house, hence why he awarded points to Harry instead of Draco. Then, his cool manor towards Draco: Draco's circumstances can't sit well with him. I mean, an expected Slytherin from an old pureblood family befriends a blood traitor and is sorted into Gryffindor... It'd be all too familiar. Snape would also know Draco to be a bit of an arrogant bully, and then the kid goes and gets Sirius Black out of Azkaban on top of it. I think that safely ends his blatant favoritism towards Draco, godson or no. **

**Seems like those are the only things that should be explained. Other than that, thanks for reading, and I'm glad you seem to be enjoying the story. Please keep up with the amazing reviews :). **


	5. Gryffindor Subtlety

Draco's jaw unhinged when he recognized the broom-shaped package in front of him that next morning.

"What on earth would McGonagall have gotten me a broom for?" he asked as he looked over the card, rolling his eyes at the warning not to open it at the table, as though everyone couldn't see exactly what he'd been given. "Why wouldn't she assume I could buy my own?"

"I don't think she'd expect your father to pay for anything that'd help you beat Slytherin," suggested Ron.

"That… actually makes sense." Draco wrinkled his nose. "Too bad she doesn't realize I've got five million in a private account; it's nothing compared to my father's fortune, but he thought it'd be good for me to learn to manage money early. Thank Merlin, if I ever get disinherited-" He noticed that Ron and the twins were looking at him with something between awe and disgust, and quickly returned his attention to the broom. "_Anyway_, the card says it's a Nimbus 2000."

Ron groaned. "I've never even _touched _one."

"Well, c'mon then," said Draco. "We'll go out to the pitch, and-"

The sound of rubies pouring into Gryffindor's point counter cut him off. He looked at the hourglass, lips twitching when he realized what the sudden influx of gems meant.

"Fifty more points," Ron said, eyes wide.

"You don't think-"

"Sirius Black is innocent!" said Percy suddenly, holding up a freshly unrolled copy of the Daily Prophet. As the other students examined their post, identical exclamations broke out across the Great Hall. Percy was already sharing his paper with several older students, so Draco looked around to see anyone else who might have one he could borrow. He hesitated when he saw Hermione Granger first—he didn't doubt that she'd be irritating about it if he asked her for a favor—but his curiosity was strong enough that he wriggled out of his seat and plopped down next to her.

"Can I read over your shoulder?" he asked.

She eyed him warily, but after a short hesitation said, to his surprise, "If you'd like."

She shifted the paper so he could read it better, and Draco began to scan the article. Apparently Pettigrew had been taken to the Ministry for questioning immediately after Draco had apprehended him. The presence of his Dark Mark, along with Veritaserum-aided questioning were considered evidence enough to convict him of every crime that'd originally been attributed to Sirius Black. He'd already been sentenced to the Dementor's kiss, likely in the Ministry's attempt to overcompensate for blaming Sirius the first time. Sirius Black had been scheduled for release earlier that morning, and he was due to receive a hefty sum of galleons for his troubles.

Draco couldn't find much concrete information beyond that; the rest of the article was a lot of backpedaling and apologizing and going on about how Peter had been so cunning and sneaky that it was no surprise they hadn't been able to catch him.

Honestly, it was about what he'd expected. The only part that really caught him off guard was that when his name was mentioned, the reporter brought up his parents and noted that they'd both refused to comment on their son's 'heroism.'

Between that and neither of them having replied to his initial letter, Draco was relatively sure that they were pretending he didn't exist. It hurt, but he'd been expecting it enough that he was able to more or less ignore the way his heart twinged at the reality of what was already happening between him and his parents.

"Well then," said Draco, tearing his eyes forcefully from the 'refuse to comment' line. "I guess that's that. Thanks Gra- Hermione."

She cleared her throat and said, slightly awkwardly, "Shouldn't you be more excited? You _were_ mentioned in the Daily Prophet, after all."

"I suppose the recognition is rather nice, but the article is merely confirmation of how I expected everything to go." He shrugged. "I'm really more excited about trying out my new broom with Ron."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and the cautious interest that'd been present in her expression faded to irritation. "Ah, _yes. _Your reward for breaking the rules."

Draco wanted to bang his head on the table. And here he'd been so close to making it through a civil conversation with her.

"No, my reward for being a Quidditch prodigy," he said, trying and failing to keep condescension from slipping into his voice. "If I would've crashed or broken something, I imagine I would've gotten detention. I only got a broom and a spot on the team because I was extremely good."

Her eyes flashed indignantly. "Don't be so flippant. You could have been killed. Madam Hooch told us not to get on our brooms for a reason, Malfoy."

"Draco," he corrected, as he'd gotten into the habit of doing lately. "And Madam Hooch told a class of people with little flying experience not to get on their brooms. I've been flying since I was very small. I knew what I was doing, so it wasn't dangerous. That subverted the whole purpose of listening to her warning."

"That's just _ridiculous_!"

"No, ridiculous is you getting so worked up about this," Draco drawled. "A normal person wouldn't think twice about this sort of thing. _Actually_, a normal person would congratulate me for elevating the talent level of our Quidditch team. Gryffindor hasn't won the Cup since Charlie Weasley graduated. I'd figure a fellow Gryffindor such as yourself would want to change that."

Hermione spluttered. "That's just—Ugh! I already have the feeling I'll greatly dislike Quidditch. I don't understand people's fascination with sports. They're so _pointless_. It's like my father and football."

Draco frowned. "I'm not sure what football is, but if it's anything like Quidditch, I'd imagine it's enjoyable."

"It's a Muggle sport," Hermione explained cautiously, sounding as though she expected him to lash out in response to the information. He tried not to roll his eyes.

"Ah. Perhaps Dean knows about it." He resolved to ask the other boy later. "Anyway, it's nice that you've calmed down, but I believe that Ron is getting impatient. I'll see you later, Hermione. Thanks again for letting me borrow that paper."

She blinked, very clearly not having expected that. "Um. You're welcome... Draco."

He smiled at her one last time, then headed back over to Ron and picked up his broom, winking at McGonagall as he and his friend headed out to take a few turns around the pitch.

…

"Check," said Draco absently, brow furrowed as his eyes scanned the board in front of him. It was embarrassing how difficult he was finding it to best Ron at chess. Never mind that he had seventeen years of other Draco's knowledge in his head. His father had taught him how to employ the use of Slytherin cunning since he was a very small child. Beating the through-and-through Gryffindor at a game of strategy should have been easy.

Instead, the redhead apparently had a secret talent for chess, and Draco was pathetically unable to pull out ahead.

"Oh, bad move, mate," said Ron when Draco advanced one of his pawns. He moved his queen diagonally several squares, and Draco's heart plummeted when he realized that he'd landed himself in an impossible situation. "Check."

He gritted his teeth and moved his king backwards one space; the only move he could make with things as they were. Ron laughed triumphantly and cornered the king with his rook.

"And that's-"

"Mister Malfoy!" Draco jerked his head up to see McGonagall standing at the entrance to the portrait hole, face impassive as always. "You're to report to the Headmaster's office this instant. Someone would like to speak with you."

Relived as he was that Ron's imminent victory had been interrupted, Draco still tensed, blood draining from his face. Given the article in the _Prophet _that morning, he wouldn't be surprised if his father had come to have a talk with him about his disgraceful behavior.

He slowly got to his feet, knees shaking just a little as he made his way over to his Head of House. She glanced at him, lips pursed as though unsure whether she should say anything, but eventually said softly, "It has nothing to do with your parents, Draco."

He released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Oh, alright." A smile twitched at his lips as he followed his professor. "Then who is it?"

"I believe he'd rather it be a surprise."

Draco nodded, although he still didn't have much idea of who'd want to visit him outside of his own immediate family. He had the barest hint of a suspicion, but dismissed it immediately. Sirius Black might've been free, but if he'd come to Hogwarts, he would want to visit Harry. Not Draco.

Given such thoughts, he was surprised to see the vaguely familiar figure of his second-cousin standing in front of the Headmaster's desk when he reached Dumbledore's office. The man's cheeks were gaunt, his skin slightly too pale, but he didn't look like a raving madman either. He'd obviously taken care to clean himself up, as his robes were expertly tailored and his hair freshly trimmed if not somewhat mussed.

"Sirius Black," said Draco when his eyes locked with the older man's. He hesitated a moment, searching for something to say. Finally he settled on a somewhat formal, "You're looking quite well."

Sirius barked a laugh. "Ah, such a polite boy," he said. "I suppose you haven't had much time to develop your Gryffindor spirit yet, although Minnie over here tells me you've got the rule-breaking down. That was a brilliant stunt you pulled with your broom."

Draco beamed, both at the praise and at the look on McGonagall's face. "_Sirius Black!" _

"Oh, shush. Look, I made the kid's day."

"She thinks I put myself in danger," said Draco. "I really had everything under control."

"Of course you did. And now you're the youngest seeker in half a century. Utterly brilliant." He took a step closer, looking at Draco appreciatively. "Then again, you seem to be a pretty special kid all around. I'm told I have you to thank for my freedom."

He ducked his head, cheeks pinking slightly. "I guess I had something to do with it. It was just luck, really."

"It was marvelous," said Sirius. Draco almost jumped out of his skin when he found himself suddenly wrapped up in a tight embrace, not having expected that Sirius Black would actually _hug him. _He wasn't sure how to react for a moment, but then something in him loosened at the sensation of having strong arms around him, of a soothing male voice telling him that he was brilliant, that he'd done well. Things he'd wanted from his father, he was now being given by a virtual stranger. By a blood traitor and a disinherited disgrace to his mother's family, and a man who'd been thought a murderer for years.

Somehow, none of that made much difference at all. Tears welled in Draco's eyes, though he wasn't sure out of happiness at the magnificent hug or bitterness that it wasn't his father giving it to him. Sniffling, he buried his face in Sirius's chest, not letting him pull away until he was sure that his features were under control once more.

"I… Thank you," said Draco embarrassedly.

"No, thank you. I was going mad there, Draco. I don't know if I would have lasted much longer." The others in the room both looked guilty at that, which gave Draco some satisfaction. They _should _look guilty. What sort of people locked away a man without a trial, especially someone who hadn't shown anything besides loyalty towards the Potters before?

It was a sign of how corrupt things had been, that his father had gotten off scot-free, while an innocent man had been locked away without anyone questioning it.

"Well, I'm glad you're out." Draco cleared his throat. "And… thank you for seeing me. We're not close family, but my parents haven't been talking to me, so…"

"It's nice, having someone to _be there_," Sirius finished softly. He put a hand over Draco's. "I can understand that."

And suddenly, Draco realized that he really could_. _He hadn't thought much of it before, but his situation was remarkably similar to Sirius Black's. Or well, perhaps not so much in details, but the generalities were the same. While Draco didn't like some of the things he'd heard about the man, he couldn't help but think that maybe he could find so much more than a place to live should he convince Sirius Black to take him in.

The former convict would be able to empathize with him in a way that Draco wasn't sure anyone else could.

"You really do," murmured Draco with some amazement.

"Of course. It's why I asked to speak with you, actually. Not just to thank you for saving me, but I wanted to let you know that if you need anything, even if it's just someone to write to, I'd be glad to help. I owe you, yes, but you're also family. Little as that's meant to me in the past, I believe that it might be significant in this instance."

Draco swallowed heavily. "T-thank you, sir."

"Sirius," he said. "Please, call me Sirius."

"Can I siriusly?"

McGonagall groaned, Dumbledore chuckled, and Sirius laughed another one of his big, hearty laughs. "Oh, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Draco."

"I'd like that," said Draco eagerly. He suddenly remembered Harry, and his face fell with the realization that he was possibly taking away from his friend's relationship with his godfather. "But… um, only if you have time to be friends with both me and Harry Potter. See, he doesn't have anyone else, and I know he's a Slytherin, but-"

Sirius held up a hand, his dark eyes warm. "I've already talked to him. Don't worry. I have plenty of time to be friends to both of you. Friends... and family, if either of you have need of it."

Draco sighed in relief. "Good."

"Now, I have to get to an appointment at Gringotts—I'm trying to seize all the Black family assets that had been taken away after the last war—but perhaps I can see you again sometime soon… For your first quidditch match, perhaps?"

As un-Malfoy of a thing as it was to do, Draco couldn't hold back an enormous smile at the suggestion. "Oh, that'd be brilliant, Sirius. You really think you can come?"

Sirius gave Draco another hug, this one more playful than the last. "I'll make sure of it."

The dark-haired man was just stepping away when the door to Dumbledore's office opened. Severus Snape strode into the room, mouth open as if to speak, when his eyes landed on where Sirius and Draco had obviously been hugging. Draco's godfather clamped his mouth shut, face becoming an impassive mask even as Draco caught a quickly-repressed glimmer of _hurt _in the older man's eyes_. _

Draco couldn't move, he was so afraid of how the inevitable confrontation would play out.

"_Black,_" drawled Snape, the word falling from his lips like a curse. "What could be so important that you've torn yourself from your hordes of admirers?"

"Come now, Snivellus. You can't be jealous of the attention I've received for being _left to rot in Azkaban for ten years__," _Sirius said. He attempted to feign playfulness, but failed utterly at keeping the venom out of his voice. "I imagine you're simply disappointed that I got out, but that's sick even for you."

"Given that you tried to _murder me-" _

"Was there something you needed, Severus?" Dumbledore cut in, sounding even calmer than usual in the unnatural tension of the room.

"I merely wished to discuss the You-Know-What," said Snape, his eyes not leaving Sirius. Draco perked up at the mention of what must've been the Philosopher's Stone, but nothing more was said before his godfather added, "It can wait," and stormed off in a flurry of billowing black robes.

Draco's heart clenched painfully. "Oh, he's never going to talk to me again."

"I don't see why you'd _want _the greasy git to talk to you. He's-" Sirius cut himself off at the looks on the others' faces. "What? Am I missing something?"

"He's my godfather," Draco muttered. He looked at Sirius imploringly. "Don't say awful things about him. He's really not so bad."

Sirius stared at him incredulously. "But it's _Snape_."

"He did a lot of brave things during the war," said Draco. "That's what I've heard anyway. He's grumpy, but he has a lot of reasons to be. Please, don't make me choose between getting to know some of the only family I can be myself around, and my own godfather. Just… be decent."

Sirius gawped for a moment, as though unwilling to believe that Snape could be the godfather of anyone, let alone a Gryffindor, but he soon wilted under the weight of Draco's gaze. "I probably won't see much of him, but if we do run into one another, I'll be decent, as you put it." He snorted in an extremely undignified manner. "I'm supposedly a grown man. I can be an adult about this."

Draco wasn't so certain, not having felt the tension between the two of them in even those few seconds, but he'd just have to take Sirius's word on the matter.

"Thanks, Sirius. And I'll be sure to write soon." He nodded to Dumbledore and McGonagall, murmuring, "Headmaster," and "Professor," respectively, then took off to find somewhere where he could be alone. He needed a bit of silence to work through his now jumbled thoughts- namely, to decide how in Merlin's name he was supposed to handle things with Professor Snape.

…

"It was Sirius Black," Draco told Ron and Neville when he returned to the common room later that evening. He leaned a bit closer to both of them, knowing that he'd have everyone in Gryffindor listening in if he mentioned having met with who was currently a rather famous figure. "He told me I was family, and that I can write him whenever I want."

"That's great, Draco," said Neville, the look on his face saying that he knew very well that Draco hadn't been getting letters from anyone else.

"What's he like?" asked Ron.

"Oh, I don't know. We didn't talk for very long, but he was nice enough. I got the impression that he likes to laugh though. He's fair, too. He talked to Harry before I got there, and said that he'd like being friends with both of us. I don't know what he thought of his godson being in Slytherin, but he didn't seem too upset about it."

Ron wrinkled his nose—it concerned Draco that he hadn't quite gotten over his distaste for Harry's house—but Neville smiled. "I'm glad you seemed to like him."

"I really do," said Draco. He sighed. "I just wish that liking him didn't upset anyone."

"What d'you mean?" Ron asked. "Everyone knows he's innocent, so I don't see why anyone would care."

Draco shook his head. "It's not about that. It's… well, Professor Snape walked in when Sirius was hugging me, and I think he felt a bit betrayed by it. They were rivals in school—Sirius bullied him, actually—and… I don't know if Snape's going to be able to handle it if I get close to someone who made life so difficult for him before." He hesitated before going on, not used to sharing such personal stuff, but both Ron and Neville were listening intently, sympathy apparent in their eyes. Somewhat reassured, Draco added, "Snape is an old family friend, and I've known him for most of my life, but… Sirius is the closest thing to family I'll have if my parents don't change the way they think. I'll regret it if I don't give myself a chance to get to know him."

Neville smiled reassuringly, and Ron tossed a comforting arm over Draco's shoulders. "I think it's sad that they're still upset about stuff that happened _years _ago," said Neville.

"Especially Snape," Ron added. "I mean, Sirius spent all those years in Azkaban when he wasn't even guilty. I don't see what the greasy git has to complain about."

"Don't call him that," Draco corrected automatically.

Ron had the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry, but I still think I'm right. If Snape wants to be bitter, that's his problem. It's not like you're doing anything to him. I mean, he probably won't even notice you and Sirius talking unless he sticks his enormous nose where it doesn't belong."

"Please, Ron. Stop insulting his appearance. He can't help the nose, and the grease is from potions fumes. It's not nearly as bad if you see him over the holidays." Draco pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying to ward off a headache. "And I can't just stop talking to him. I _like _Professor Snape. When he respects you, he's a really good friend to have. It's just… What if he doesn't respect me anymore? He already had a tough time with me being in Gryffindor, and now Sirius Black is talking about coming to my Quidditch matches, and Snape caught him hugging me… and maybe he doesn't think I'm worth his respect anymore."

The fear sounded childish even to his own ears, but it was legitimate all the same. For all the friends he'd made at Hogwarts, he was due to lose his mother and father at the very least, likely before the year was out. He hadn't considered asking Snape if he could live with him, not when it would raise questions if Voldemort ever did come back, and not given that he didn't think the potions master would be all that eager to take in an eleven-year-old boy in any case, but he did still see the professor as an uncle of sorts, and he didn't want to lose that.

But he also didn't want to lose the chance to become closer to Sirius. Not when his cousin understood about being in Gryffindor and disagreeing with family, and especially not when Draco had already decided that convincing Sirius to take him in for the summers was his best shot at having a place to call home after he (inevitably) got disowned.

He needed both men, and knowing that their hatred for each other might always have him at odds with one of them scared him.

"If he lets something so tiny chase him off, then _he's _not worth it," said Ron.

Draco shook his head. "But-"

"But nothing," said Neville, more firmly than Draco would have expected from him. "If Professor Snape quits talking to you when you haven't done anything wrong, then it's not your fault. It's his."

Draco looked between the two of them, surprised at the conviction in their eyes. It shocked him into something close to a smile. "Well, um… thanks, I guess."

"Gryffindors are known for our loyalty, y'know," said Ron. "We stand by our own."

He _had _known, but only superficially. Seeing evidence of that dedication was something else entirely. Choked up with emotion, he could only nod his thanks to each of his friends before he awkwardly cleared his throat and got to his feet. "Well, now enough of that. Anyone want to sneak down to the kitchens? I missed supper, so I'm _famished_."

"You know how to get to the kitchens?" asked Ron, something almost akin to hero-worship in his eyes.

"I dunno if we should. We'll lose points if we're caught…" said Neville.

"Then we best not get caught," said Draco. "Besides, we've got a hundred-something point lead. I don't think we have anything to worry about even if we do lose a point or two."

"House Elves cook the food," Ron added, "and I bet they'll make you anything you want. Even pumpkin pasties."

Neville's conviction wavered, and Draco knew they had him. Still, he couldn't help but add, "Besides, we're Gryffindors. Doing impulsive, foolhardy things is like part of our code or something."

"Fine," Neville muttered. "But if we get in trouble…"

"You can blame my evil Malfoy influence," said Draco, waving him off. "Now c'mon. I'm dying for a sandwich."

…

"Um, D-Draco…" Ron spluttered, staring at the snarling three-headed dog that stood across from them. "When you said you were dying for a sandwich, I didn't think this is what you meant!"

Draco swallowed heavily. His other self had never come face to face with the creature, although he'd heard mention of it near the end of his first year. He really should have expected to run into the thing somewhere along the line, now that he'd put himself in the middle of all this 'stopping Voldemort' business, but he was still shocked that it was so soon and in such an unexpected manner.

"Yeah, well," Draco hissed. "I wasn't expecting Mrs. Norris chase us onto a bloody moving staircase, and-" He cut himself off as the dog started moving forward. "And how about let's argue about this _later_?"

The others didn't need to be told twice. They tore out of the room and sprinted all the way back to Gryffindor tower. When they finally slipped back through the portrait hole, huffing and clutching at their aching sides, the reality of what'd happened finally sunk in and all three of them collapsed to the ground in shock.

"That was a three-headed dog," Neville panted.

"A Cerberus," corrected Draco.

"I didn't think Dumbledore was serious about anyone who went to the corridor dying a horrible, painful death," gasped Ron.

"Merlin, I hadn't even realized where we were," Draco added. "If I'd have known, I would have taken the detention."

They all sat for a moment, trying to get their breathing under control. After several minutes of passed, Ron ventured hesitantly, "Why do you think there's a Cerberus at the school?"

"I think it was protecting something. I'm pretty sure I saw a trapdoor underneath," said Draco; his other half hadn't known that, had only a vague idea of what'd happened with everything the first time around, but Draco had caught a glimpse of the door himself, and the reasoning skills he'd picked up from his future self had already helped him put a lot of pieces into place. Quirrell, who'd apparently had the Dark Lord on the back of his head, had tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone from Hogwarts. Fluffy the three-headed dog was protecting something.

Draco imagined that the Stone was just the sort of thing that Dumbledore would bring a three-headed dog in to protect. He also expected that the dog was only the first level of protection; there was no way that something so precious wasn't guarded by multiple deterrents.

Of course, he couldn't say any of this to Ron and Neville, as he really didn't think they could handle it. He'd need to reveal information gradually, working up to it piece by piece. He'd also have to figure out how to get Harry involved, and possibly Hermione, not to mention decide when and where to act. He had a few ideas outlined in the notebook he'd worked on throughout the summer, but nothing concrete. He'd known too little about the events of his first year to make any set plans.

"You took the time to see a _trapdoor_?" said Ron incredulously, and Draco returned his focus to the conversation. "You mean, while it was charging at us?!"

"My father taught me to always be observant," said Draco. They both gawped at him, and Draco waved off their disbelief. "But that's not important. What's important is that Dumbledore is hiding something at Hogwarts. Something that he _clearly _doesn't want found."

"Why Hogwarts? Wouldn't Gringotts be safer?" asked Ron.

"There was a break-in there," said Neville.

"Oh, yeah," said Draco, a smirk stretching across his lips at his friend's observation. "But the vault was empty, remember? I bet Dumbledore knew it wasn't going to be safe much longer, so he took it out and brought it here so he can keep an eye on it." He frowned. "Where hundreds of students could be hurt by whatever tries to take it."

"Maybe it's important enough that it doesn't matter," said Ron.

"What could be _that _important?" asked Neville.

"I don't know," said Draco. "But I think we ought to keep our eyes open, just in case something big happens." He paused, but added, "It'd also be a good idea to keep this to ourselves."

"It does sound like the sort of thing that should be a secret," Neville agreed.

"Right," said Draco. "But if either of you picks up more information, you have to promise to share. Got it?"

Ron and Neville nodded, and Draco released a shaky breath.

Things were starting, and Merlin, did that knowledge terrify him.

…

Potions the next day was _hell. _

"Potter, Malfoy, what in Merlin's name is that_ sludge_?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's a perfectly brewed nutrient potion, sir."

Snape's nostrils flared. "It's too dense-"

"Just like you and Sirius Black," Draco muttered, unable to help himself. Of course, with his 'bat-like hearing,' Snape heard and pinned him with a terrifying glare.

"What was that, Mister Malfoy?"

Draco looked up and met his professor's eyes, nearly screaming with his thoughts so that Snape didn't have much choice but to pick them up with Legillimancy. _I said that you and Sirius are dense. As in, you're too stupid to see things that should be obvious. Like that holding childhood grudges into your adult life is ridiculous, and that you're hurting the people who care about you by being unable to let them go. Bloody immature arseholes. _

He smiled innocently, and said out loud, "Nothing, Professor."

"Ten points from Gryffindor for cheek-"

"Professor!" Harry protested. "He didn't say anything, and the potion is _perfect. _It's just like the book says it's supposed to look. If you're going to insult somebody's, look at Crabbe and Goyle's!"

"Ten points-" Snape cut himself off, and said instead. "Detention, Potter. I have no time for your sniveling arrogance. I think I know better than you what a decently brewed potion looks like, and your pitiful excuse for a finished product would better serve as poison than anything." He sneered at the cauldron. "Then again, if I'm forced to deal with your brazen idiocy any longer, I might choose to consume it regardless."

Harry looked devastated, and Draco realized with a start that it was the first time Snape had treated him with true animosity in this go around. The man hadn't been kind by any means, but he'd projected an air of careful indifference that might have occasionally bordered on fondness.

For that to be taken away so suddenly obviously jarred the dark-haired boy.

"P-Professor?" Harry stuttered, a tremor in his voice.

Snape turned on a heel and barked at the rest of the class, "Your time is up. Turn in your potions."

Draco seethed silently as the rest of the class gathered their things. Daphne and Blaise both showed up to comfort Harry, both of them glaring at Snape as they escorted the Boy-Who-Lived from the room. Draco watched them go, then waved off Ron and Neville; he needed to talk to his godfather in private.

"Mister Malfoy, I have class soon." The professor didn't bother looking at him.

"This will only take a moment," said Draco. He picked up his bag and strode over to Snape, heart pounding against his chest as he placed himself directly in front of the Slytherin Head of House. "I've heard rumors of how Sirius Black treated you throughout your schooling-"

"That is _none _of your business, you insolent-"

Draco puffed out his chest. "_No. _Let me speak," he snapped. He took a deep breath and went on before Snape could recover from his surprise. "I know Sirius was in the wrong, and that he did things he shouldn't have, but people change. He's been in Azkaban for ten years. You can't say that he wasn't punished more than enough."

A biting venom that only could've been borrowed from the other Draco seeped into his voice as he gathered just enough courage to look Snape right in the eye, an almost shockingly mature disgust churning in his gut. "But even if you're still bitter," he went on. "Hell, even if you still think it's okay to get mad at _me_ for wanting to talk to him, that isn't any excuse for you to take it out on Harry. I don't know if you've noticed, but he's been trying to gain your approval from the second he stepped into Hogwarts! That's one of the reasons he's in Slytherin—he _asked the Hat _because I told him you'd known his mother, and he wanted to be closer to one of her old friends. He's been working his arse off for your respect, and I thought maybe it was working. But just now, you were awful to him because he pointed out that you were being awful to _me_, and I can't imagine it was for any reason other than his recent meeting with Sirius Black, who happens to be one of the only people he knows who might really care for him. That's _sick, _and you really hurt him! I know picking on children gives you some sort of perverse pleasure, but really it's just _pathetic._ It's something I'd expect from my father. Not from you."

He exhaled slowly, and then added even more softly, in a low, dangerous voice that was a mirror of Snape at his most terrifying, "No matter how terribly James Potter and Sirius Black treated you, you were their age- you could fight back. Harry is _eleven, _and you are an adult. If you can't see how much more disgusting that makes you than they ever were... well, I only hope that Harry will be smart enough to realize that you're a lost cause, because I don't want you to hurt my friend any more than you already have." _  
_

Draco didn't give Snape the chance to speak; instead, he turned on a heel and strode purposely from the room, taking care not to look back for fear of what he'd see on his godfather's face.

"What did he _do_?" Ron breathed when Draco came out. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"He's going to kill me," Draco muttered. "Why did I act like such a bloody Gryffindor?" He took a shaking breath. "Oh, Merlin. He's going to kill me."

"Draco…"

"I said that he was pathetic, and cruel, and compared him to my father."

Ron blinked. "That's not good."

"You think I don't _know _that? I _never _would have done that before. Being in this house is rotting my brain. I'm becoming stupid."

"Does it help that I have an insane amount of respect for you right now?"

Draco glared. "Not when I know I'm going to have detentions for the rest of the year. For the rest of my schooling. Hell, for the rest of my _life." _

"Surely it won't be that bad," said Ron.

Of course, the redhead's optimism fell flat. At dinner that evening, Draco got a letter from Snape saying that he had two-hour detentions every other weekday until Christmas. There were also twenty points missing from the Gryffindor counter.

The only positive of the evening was that the potions professor was blissfully absent.

...

**Author's Note: **

**Yay. A long chapter, with lots of things happening. Some real Draco/Hermione interaction, more Ron/Neville/Draco friendship, and a hint of plot. Plus, the introduction of Sirius Black and a dressing down of Snape. I was a bit unsure of the last bit because child Draco never would have talked to his godfather like that, but I do think future Draco's influence could have pushed him into it. After all, Draco has never had patience for the flaws of others, and I don't imagine that an older, more jaded version of himself would put up with Snape's behavior when it would cause so many problems in the future. Combine that lack of willingness to put up with a twenty-year-old grudge with the younger Draco's frustration and susceptibility to losing his temper, and I could see a very dramatic tantrum taking place. **

**Of course, next chapter we'll get to see what Snape thinks about it, which should be loads of fun. And I'm thinking it's got to be about time for Halloween as well... **

**Anyway, thanks for all your comments so far; I really appreciate the feedback. As always, please tell me what you think.**


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